[ 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
…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.