[ dextera can’t run. he’s never been able to run. the world he knew before was so limited, and now against his will, the archangel has managed to find the place he thought he escaped to. the only thing keeping him grounded in this conversation is that he has time, and maybe if he’s lucky, the archangel won’t arrive at all. maybe it was a fluke. ]
No.
[ he’s powerless against the archangel, and his pained, definitive statement leaves no room for argument. despite all dextera’s powers of godhood, things makoto has experienced for himself, they’re no match for the deceptively simple sway of manipulation the archangel has. ]
( the silence that stretches after that answer is one tinged with sympathy. makoto has never been able to fight back either. the moment preceding his true understanding of what he was to J had been when he had stood up to the demon, when he had dared to tell the man that he wouldn't become a demon — or, at least, not in the way that he wanted him to.
that wouldn't stop him. it couldn't. though built around perception, the strong would always impose their will upon those weaker than they were, and so long as makoto wasn't strong enough to enforce his own declarations, he would always lose them. in hell's strictest definition, he had become a demon in the way that J had decided, though the type of demon he ended up growing into... that was where he told himself he would find his freedom.
but there was an impossibly long and difficult path to that place. for dextera... he gets the feeling he can't even see a similar path, regardless of how arduous it may or may not be. )
I did.
( there are thorns to those simple words; the prickling of residual anger, its source bone-deep and boundless.
there's a pause... then: ) He is just a man.
( he had felt it when the talons of his wings had plunged into the papery plumage of those facsimile wings, tearing through their illusion with obvious disappointment. the violence he had turned toward makoto in that dream had been real, but it had also been feverish, desperate — mortal. and even if he weren't, there was something about being here and all being Aions in the same right that had a way of making the invulnerable suddenly find new vulnerabilities. )
[ it is possible that this world offers new opportunities that dextera’s own had not, but to even begin to think within those parameters, dextera would have to shake off the trauma of the place he came from. there was a practical barrier, too, one that no amount of emotion could ever circumvent— ]
…he has my memories.
[ not literally, not in the crystalline form that dextera had been so close to viewing before he was plucked away from his home. but because of that frightening vision and with no reason to doubt it, the archangel is the only person left in the span of the universe, in all the possible universes that have converged here in this place for some reason, who knows who dextera is. ]
I don’t know who I am without him.
[ the statement is both poetic and true; dextera has defined himself either aligned or in opposition to the archangel since waking up, but it’s impossible to discover anything about his past without being told.
( there's the thin, reedy feedback of disbelief, one that slowly widens into a dubious mire before once again leveling out into low, seething anger.
J had taken everything from him, and everything that he had been given back had been on his terms and to his specifications — his life, his body, his freedom, his dignity. he had willingly worked for three years in a brothel, in part because he thought it would be an expeditious way to learn more about hell and its denizens but also because it bought him extremely important space and agency away from his demon master. despite the tangled web that he and the older demon weaved, he had at the very least never taken from him what the archangel had taken from dextera. one's memories, the very blueprint upon which the self was built.
it fills makoto with a riotous indignation, though one curiously entirely for dextera's behalf. it's an odd feeling.
he is silent for a long moment, ruminating on his anger and this puzzle posed to him. )
So — how do we get them back from him?
( said, of course, in a way that brokers dextera little room for negotiation. )
[ who, in all his life, has ever been on his side?
everyone wants something from him. their help comes with conditions, and their love is an exchange made in blood. he expects as much from makoto, too, but there’s something—something that may not be altogether selfless, but is not working with dextera’s destruction in mind. he can feel that, however distant through the obscurity of the barriers of their alignment. makoto is angry for him.
this silences dextera after his initial shocked breath, and leaves him to acknowledge the only answer is that he doesn’t really have one. ]
I…
[ it’s a testament to the archangel’s sway over him that the resolution he finally comes up with is not even one he wants. ]
( it's a novelty that they share, though in makoto's case, he had left behind a string of incidents in which demons had given him the impression they were on his side before... doing exactly what demons do and screwing him over. he had learned to wall off the part of himself that yearned for that kind of camaraderie and instead do the same when given the chance.
but this place and the circumstances they've all found themselves in has done much to knock down those walls, and... it's a frightening sort of leap to make, but he finds he's willing to make it. he doesn't think dextera is the type to betray him. he doesn't want to believe he is.
makoto's emotional response to his answer is incendiary — it roars to life like a sudden flame and consumes the words, causing them to crumble and burn and blacken at the edges. it's a flat rejection, and one that does carry some frustration at dextera... though it's one that he at least attempts to temper. )
Absolutely not.
( he pauses, and when he continues, his tone is far more level, ) He's taken what rightfully belongs to you. If anything, he should beg your forgiveness.
[ dextera thinks to protest that that would never happen and it’s impossible to even imagine, but a fleeting memory—the ghost of a sensation—suggests that it’s not as far away as he might suspect. the only problem is that he doesn’t want to make the archangel beg; he’s never craved power over another person, even to his own detriment. momentary displays of rage, even malice, are different from a concerted effort to control.
that is, after all, how he keeps forgiving the archangel time and time again. ]
…Makoto.
[ dextera says his name, as a way to buy time for his answer, but also because he sincerely needs to focus his thoughts. there’s the briefest impulse for him to be honest about the dynamic at play between himself and the archangel, and his reasons as such for abandoning the kenoma, but he thinks better of it in the face of makoto’s foul mood. ]
When he comes… if he comes… the only thing I want is to hold on to the things I have. I just don’t want to lose anything else.
( to hear his name... it brings with it a bizarre myriad of different and conflicting emotions. in hell, to say one's name was an act of dominance; to shape the syllables in your mouth and command them on your tongue was in and of itself proof in your irrefutable power over them, a hierarchical fact. as he had gained power and prestige, he had heard it less and less outside of these instances — these, and when J had kept him both leashed and incited with his own affectionate nicknames (a different type of control). but dextera presents it without these trappings and connotations, making it sound familiar but also... blessedly devoid of inherent judgment or criticism.
needless to say: it buys dextera plenty of time. there is a pensiveness, faintly mystified, emanating from the demon before he decides to continue.
from there, the silence continues; makoto is at odds with himself, understanding profoundly what dextera means in wanting to keep the last things left to him but also desperately wishing he could make him want more. is this how J had felt, whenever he had started to watch his ward slide into the direction of indolence...?
he decides not to push dextera, but also reserves the right to perhaps push him later. )
If that's what you want, I will do everything I can to make sure that doesn't come to pass.
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no subject
No.
[ he’s powerless against the archangel, and his pained, definitive statement leaves no room for argument. despite all dextera’s powers of godhood, things makoto has experienced for himself, they’re no match for the deceptively simple sway of manipulation the archangel has. ]
Did you talk to him? I can’t do anything.
no subject
that wouldn't stop him. it couldn't. though built around perception, the strong would always impose their will upon those weaker than they were, and so long as makoto wasn't strong enough to enforce his own declarations, he would always lose them. in hell's strictest definition, he had become a demon in the way that J had decided, though the type of demon he ended up growing into... that was where he told himself he would find his freedom.
but there was an impossibly long and difficult path to that place. for dextera... he gets the feeling he can't even see a similar path, regardless of how arduous it may or may not be. )
I did.
( there are thorns to those simple words; the prickling of residual anger, its source bone-deep and boundless.
there's a pause... then: ) He is just a man.
( he had felt it when the talons of his wings had plunged into the papery plumage of those facsimile wings, tearing through their illusion with obvious disappointment. the violence he had turned toward makoto in that dream had been real, but it had also been feverish, desperate — mortal. and even if he weren't, there was something about being here and all being Aions in the same right that had a way of making the invulnerable suddenly find new vulnerabilities. )
Are you truly so powerless against him?
no subject
…he has my memories.
[ not literally, not in the crystalline form that dextera had been so close to viewing before he was plucked away from his home. but because of that frightening vision and with no reason to doubt it, the archangel is the only person left in the span of the universe, in all the possible universes that have converged here in this place for some reason, who knows who dextera is. ]
I don’t know who I am without him.
[ the statement is both poetic and true; dextera has defined himself either aligned or in opposition to the archangel since waking up, but it’s impossible to discover anything about his past without being told.
no god, no aion can give him that instead. ]
no subject
J had taken everything from him, and everything that he had been given back had been on his terms and to his specifications — his life, his body, his freedom, his dignity. he had willingly worked for three years in a brothel, in part because he thought it would be an expeditious way to learn more about hell and its denizens but also because it bought him extremely important space and agency away from his demon master. despite the tangled web that he and the older demon weaved, he had at the very least never taken from him what the archangel had taken from dextera. one's memories, the very blueprint upon which the self was built.
it fills makoto with a riotous indignation, though one curiously entirely for dextera's behalf. it's an odd feeling.
he is silent for a long moment, ruminating on his anger and this puzzle posed to him. )
So — how do we get them back from him?
( said, of course, in a way that brokers dextera little room for negotiation. )
no subject
[ who, in all his life, has ever been on his side?
everyone wants something from him. their help comes with conditions, and their love is an exchange made in blood. he expects as much from makoto, too, but there’s something—something that may not be altogether selfless, but is not working with dextera’s destruction in mind. he can feel that, however distant through the obscurity of the barriers of their alignment. makoto is angry for him.
this silences dextera after his initial shocked breath, and leaves him to acknowledge the only answer is that he doesn’t really have one. ]
I…
[ it’s a testament to the archangel’s sway over him that the resolution he finally comes up with is not even one he wants. ]
I would have to beg.
no subject
but this place and the circumstances they've all found themselves in has done much to knock down those walls, and... it's a frightening sort of leap to make, but he finds he's willing to make it. he doesn't think dextera is the type to betray him. he doesn't want to believe he is.
makoto's emotional response to his answer is incendiary — it roars to life like a sudden flame and consumes the words, causing them to crumble and burn and blacken at the edges. it's a flat rejection, and one that does carry some frustration at dextera... though it's one that he at least attempts to temper. )
Absolutely not.
( he pauses, and when he continues, his tone is far more level, ) He's taken what rightfully belongs to you. If anything, he should beg your forgiveness.
no subject
that is, after all, how he keeps forgiving the archangel time and time again. ]
…Makoto.
[ dextera says his name, as a way to buy time for his answer, but also because he sincerely needs to focus his thoughts. there’s the briefest impulse for him to be honest about the dynamic at play between himself and the archangel, and his reasons as such for abandoning the kenoma, but he thinks better of it in the face of makoto’s foul mood. ]
When he comes… if he comes… the only thing I want is to hold on to the things I have. I just don’t want to lose anything else.
no subject
needless to say: it buys dextera plenty of time. there is a pensiveness, faintly mystified, emanating from the demon before he decides to continue.
from there, the silence continues; makoto is at odds with himself, understanding profoundly what dextera means in wanting to keep the last things left to him but also desperately wishing he could make him want more. is this how J had felt, whenever he had started to watch his ward slide into the direction of indolence...?
he decides not to push dextera, but also reserves the right to perhaps push him later. )
If that's what you want, I will do everything I can to make sure that doesn't come to pass.