tampered | log; complete

log; complete

When; After Esther returns to the City proper
Rating; PG? UNCLEAR
Characters; Esther Blanchett [

rev_it_up]
Summary; The consequences of their mirrored selves were bound to show up sooner or later.
Log;

The satisfaction of making it back to the City proper is a subtle one. In one sense, it almost feels as though the separation between the two Cities never occurred at all--sleeping in her actual bed the first night of her return feels no different than before, the apartment in its entirety has not changed, and while she hasn't been able to see many of her friends for the past week, she's been able to maintain a normal level of contact with them through the Network. In fact, the only real difference that really sinks in were the light taps of Tres' nails against the wooden floor as he eagerly scampers over to greet her when she first returned.

Ironically, the curse has left Esther with some gains--she has all of her memories intact once more, certain events giving her the mental jolts that she apparently needed, and Esther managed to get more than enough sleep while in the Mirror City, leaving her more alert on the whole.

Physically, anyway.

But, as Esther is wont to do, the bed's calling yet again, just because it's been a while since Tres nuzzled against her cheek while resting on the pillow, and because sleeping is easy to do. Nightmares aside.

Come to think of it, she never had nightmares in the mirrored City. Curious.

Without even bothering to remove her habit, Esther allows herself to fall back on the mattress, exhausted. Smiling faintly when Tres immediately starts licking her cheek.

It tickles.

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He doesn't knock. He's not sure why. He just doesn't. He remembers before, standing in front of her door, and that he knocked then. Things have changed. Twisted. There's still a voice in his head and it echoes. Louder now, though contained for the time being. He reaches out a moment, one hand on the door, forehead pressed against that awkward spot that's mostly elbow.

I could have killed you.

It bothers him. Less? More? Than it should. He can't decide how he should react, not yet. His mind's too jumbled, too much of a mess.

But he knows he needs to talk to her. Apologize.

He doesn't knock, but he steps inside.

"Esther."

His voice doesn't quite crack, doesn't quite break, but it's a near thing. He flicks the lights on.

The sudden glare of the lights from overhead and the familiar voice causes Esther to turn on her side instinctively, but as her arm reaches out she notices her lack of foresight-- she's not under the covers, as usual. Hiding isn't so easy. God, it isn't so easy, but she needs for it to be-- isn't it enough that she finally managed to get home? But of course, things are never simple for her. She shouldn't hope for them to be, anymore.

Tres chooses that moment to jump off the bed, making a beeline for the door. He's always been a smart dog.

Esther reminds herself to focus on the positives again. At least he's okay, right? Let bygones be bygones.

"You could've knocked, Nero," she laughs lightly, not sitting up yet. "It's past my bedtime, you know."

He smiles a little, at that. Lets the dog out, shuts the door behind him and then leans against it anew, arms folded across the chest. An expert in body language would say that he looks uncomfortable, and he is.

"And broken your door down again when you told me to go away? No thanks. Fixing it once was enough."

He slides down the door and doesn't bother trying to keep himself standing. When he's on the floor proper, he pushes the heel of his hand against his jaw until his neck cracks.

"Aren't you a little old for bedtimes anyways?"

She flinches at the sound of his neck cracking; for some reason, the snap bothers her, and she raises one hand to her own neck, where the bruises are, fortunately, healing well. It's not really physical pain that she's worried about though, at this point. She just doesn't understand why he's here. If he has apologies, she doesn't want to hear them.

Probably because she feels bad about the fact that, well, she doubted him, back in the other City. Still doubts him now, even. Curses like the one they experienced are annoying because they don't lay it all out for Esther, and she's left with guesswork.

"Try living in a church for most of your life. Bed at sundown, wake at sunrise," Esther replies solemnly, finally sitting up, but looking to the side. "I'm already pushing my limit, I'm pretty sure."

His breathing, he realizes, is mechanical. Too low, too even. He sucks in a breath just to change the pattern and pointedly does not look at her neck.

"Some of. Not most." But he always needed less sleep than those around him. Whether it was an early manifestation of his demonic endurance or just plain stubbornness that would see him - in bed, yes, but sitting upright and cross-legged with his arms folded stubbornly just to prove he wasn't tired.

He glances to her, finally, and in a low voice, asks, "... So what were you cursed with?"

He's very good at pinpointing her weak points, Esther mentally notes, and in anticipation of what she's sure will be a very tiring conversation, she rubs her temples, trying to figure out how exactly she's going to phrase things to Nero without giving up too much of this... not quite pride in her chest.

Then again, she brought up a pretty awkward topic herself, didn't she?

"I, uh. Um."

There's a flush rising to her cheeks and she can feel it, and she doesn't want it there. Nothing that might make the situation seem somehow comical.

"Lust, I think. Judging by how I enjoyed... certain things. I don't... really want to talk about this, you know."

He's a little too quick to apologize to that one. "Sorry."

Deep breathing. He tips his head back against the door, jerks his sleeve down until his right arm is hidden. He doesn't really know what to say to that - though it conjures an awkward memory. Was that why she'd... yeah, no, not going there.

"This is where Abel'd start whining about how he's a monster, huh?"

Immediately, she whispers under her breath. "I thought I just said that I didn't want..."

And ends it with a sigh.

She lowers her head, closing her eyes, letting herself think for a bit. Listening to the steadiness of her breathing, which clashes with his. Don't think about it, Nero. Don't think about it, and she won't think about what you did either-- isn't that fair?

"You're not a monster, so don't say that," Esther suddenly snaps, voice a little sharper than she'd planned, but maybe it's a sore spot that's hit too often. "Don't even."

She shifts to the side of the bed, leaving him room on the bed, if he wants it. To show that she's not afraid.

Always seems to work with Abel, anyway.

"I know. I'm being obnoxious. Heh." He notes her gesture but declines with the wave of one hand. She might not be afraid.

He is.

Because he can still hear that voice. He can still feel those feelings. Oh sure they were augmented by the curse. Sure everyone around him will have convinced themselves that it wasn't him, not really.

The truth of the matter is, he's not sure where he ends and where this other 'him' begins.

"Too bad. I'm planning preemptively for Halloween. Bought some fake plastic teeth and everything."

"Ah, I've got my costume planned out too," Esther replies, smoothing out her skirt as she finally chances a glance in his direction. "I have this really awesome nun costume. Real authentic. It gets people every single time."

She pulls her legs up to her chest again--making sure her skirt covers everything, of course. No need to relive parts of that curse again. The position is one that she's certainly familiarized herself with recently, and it's nice to have the pressure against her chest.

"There's no way your costume will be as good as mine," she adds, raising her chin in the air for a moment, sniffing. "But you can try, I guess."

The chin falls back on her knees again.

"What did you really come here for, Nero?"

"Are you kidding? I'm going as Dracula. I've totally got you beat." And there's that smile again, though it's small and only half sincere.

He doesn't answer her right away, because he can't help but think that the way she says it sounds like an accusation. It's not, he's sure. But it sounds too much like...

"Do I need a reason to drop in on a friend?"

"You don't look a thing like Dracula, and I certainly hope you don't plan on seducing half the girls in the City," Esther retorts, voice slightly muffled against her knees.

Yeah, it's an accusation, of sorts. Because she's never going to get a straight answer out of anyone if she skirts around things like they do. Maybe not the type he's thinking of, though.

She pauses at his words, mind quickly rerunning through a few memories. Maybe she's just not accustomed to knowing the confrontational type. Esther usually runs away from these types of battles until she's composed herself.

"You shouldn't. Doesn't mean you don't... have one."

He slides one leg out in front of him, wraps his arm around the other knee. Cocks his head and just gives her a look.

"I wanted to make sure you're okay."

That's it, no ulterior motive. He's not going to apologize because... what's the point? He can't promise her it won't happen again, he can't promise her anything at all. So he won't. It ain't his style.

Her knuckles turn white as her grip tightens on her legs, but aside from that Esther gives no indication of surprise, of being taken aback. She wiggles her toes curiously, glad that she's in her habit-- she would long be shivering by now otherwise.

"Nero, it takes a lot more than that for me not to be fine, you know. I didn't bat much of an eye when you lost your arm-- why would I be upset now?" She offers a small smile. It's sincere.

"I think the question is one that's better posed towards you."

"Didn't bat much of an eye? You practically lost your mind."

He looks to that arm, shuffles the cuff of his coat further down. He's not stalling for time. He's just... tired. There were two people he wanted to talk to, and then he was going to sleep for a year. One of them was in front of him now, and she was by far the easier of the two.

"That curse was hard on everybody," he says, and when he plays it over in his mind he thinks it sounds avoidant, so he clears his throat and tries again. "I'll live."

Languidly, Esther's eyes rest on the cuff of his coat, and how Nero keeps on tugging it down, and a small crease forms on her brow. He's ashamed of it, isn't he? Just like how Abel's ashamed of the Crusnik. And maybe Nero and his arm are also similar in that they'll always be a part of one another-- to be honest, Esther has little to no idea if that's the case, but there must be a reason for his almost twitchy behavior.

"Well, I'll live, too," she replies with a slight sigh. "Nero, look I-- I'm not mad at you, I'm not upset with you, in the same way that I can never bring myself to be upset with Father or with... Dietrich."

Esther inhales again, slowly, and her breath shakes from the effort.

"I-- I'm trying, but I really don't know what you want me to say, Nero," Esther adds, voice cracking slightly at the end of the question, and Nero needs to get out before she starts crying again, because she's only ever allowed to do that when Tres is around.

"If I thought you were mad," he says, with one eyebrow raised in faint amusement. "... I'd have told you to hit me by now. No. That's not it."

He gets up, slowly, dusts his hands against his thighs. And then he steps towards her bed, presses one knee into the mattress and gives her an awkward hug.

"I'm sorry I can't promise it won't happen again," he says, in lieu of an actual apology.

She stiffens initially at the contact, because, well, the last time he touched her, Esther ended up nearly being choked to death, but his voice is a constant reminder that it's actually him this time, unaffected by whatever it was that had been in his system that day. And because, for some reason, physical contact seems to be more comforting to Esther than any words can usually be--particularly when they've been playing games with their words anyway, hiding certain things, certain details. You can't really mask the way a hug comes off to someone, though.

It's tentative. And Nero never half-asses things.

So Esther makes up by clinging tightly to him, back still shaking because she certainly can't cry all over Nero's coat, can she?

"You don't need to promise anything," Esther insists, voice strained. "Other than the fact that you need not to hide so much from me again, okay? I can take it, you know, if I know what's going on. Really. Don't keep me in the dark like everyone else does."

He catches that tension, and doesn't quite flinch at it. It's like being gun shy, except you're on the other end of the barrel and you can't stop yourself from pulling the trigger until all your days bleed together into a single cohesive sound - the click before the firing pin lands. Instead, when she hugs him back, he pats her shoulder before pulling away, resting on the bed, one leg tucked under him.

The bravado he musters is faked, but only just. "If you wanna know something, just ask. I don't operate the way everyone else around here does." In lies, he does not say.

Because it's not always true.

Idly, he rolls up his right sleeve. His arm's too hot when it's covered.

Ah, there it is again. The subtle feeling of being brushed off. Esther figures that she should probably be used to it by now--either that, or she's thinking too much to the extent where she's sensing it where it hasn't happened. Either way, she swallows thickly as Nero pulls away from the hug, one hand fisting for a brief moment before she lets it sag, again. Is he close enough for her to rest her head against him? It feels heavy.

Glancing over, Esther notices him rolling up his sleeve. Okay, never mind, then.

"It almost feels like a let-down that you offered that to me so easily," Esther murmurs, one hand brushing her bangs to the side. "Or maybe you didn't actually. Or maybe I'm too paranoid. It's probably... a combination of all of them, in the end."

She pulls her legs up to the bed again, wrapping her arms around them. She feels cold now.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, to the point where you might feel compelled to lie to me," she says, cheek rested against her knee. "Because I can't differentiate truth from lies unless it's a curse day. But... if last week was something that might happen again, I think I deserve to know why."

When he's finished with his sleeve, he stands up... and then decides, to hell with it, skins out of his jacket and drapes it over Esther's shoulders. He's not the cuddly type, but he doesn't want her to think he's gonna just up and abandon her, either.

"Sorry?" he offers mildly, with the ghost of a grin. "Should I take it back and give you three quests to complete first? Heh."

"Uncomfortable. Pff. If I didn't want to tell you something I wouldn't." He settles back down on the bed, facing away from her, hands laced, elbows on his knees.

"Well, you know I'm a demon, yeah? Half... or whatever."

Esther blinks at the sudden weight on her shoulders, at first in no direction in particular, then looking up at Nero, before finally tugging the jacket so that it drapes over her head as she tugs the sides around her cheeks--just about the only thing really visible of her now is her forehead. She's a tiny little thing, and the jacket's pretty big at that. It's convenient, though, in hiding the blush that she's sure is rising to her cheeks--Nero wouldn't know it, but this is reminiscent of one of the first experiences she had with Abel, and, well.

She wonders if she's about to start down a similar path with this man.

Still blinking a little more rapidly than usual, she tilts her head in his direction, a little disappointed at how he's no longer facing her. It makes a man harder to read when his expressions are hidden. Not to mention that, well, Nero has silver hair too, and--

--she's wondering if his lashes are silver as well.

"Yeah, I know," she replies softly, wrapping the coat even more tightly around her. It's warm.

"Okay, so. Thing is, I don't know my heritage. Dante thinks he might be my father, but my mom never said anything."

He steps over and around that proverbial landmine. "About six months ago, I got hurt on a mission. I told you I was a knight for a crazy religious order, right? I broke my arm in four places." He lifts his right arm to where she can see it, waggles his fingers and does not mention that Kyrie had been there, that he'd blacked out afterwards and woken up amidst as much gore as he remembers from the curse. "After that I started hearing things. Voices. You know. Totally normal." He lowers his arm again, studies it in the light. It seems more alive, more of a separate entity than usual. Che'.

"When I met Dante for the first time, it changed. Into what it is now. The voice got worse." Power. Give me more power. Might controls everything. And without strength, you can't protect anything.

"I don't know what it is. If it's... another personality or possession or what. But that voice, it sounds like Vergil."

He sighs. "So that's it. As much as I know."

It doesn't surprise her as much as it probably should, and that frightens Esther a little--that she can believe his story in its entirety, right down to the lack of concrete knowledge that he claims. And maybe she understands on an even deeper level; Esther thinks back to that one curse, where she had been infected with the Crusnik nanomachines, remembers the voices getting louder, remembers feeling hungry, remembers them putting her consciousness in the backseat so that they could go out and feed. It had been like watching a movie and having absolutely no control over the events.

But at least she knew what it was. At least she had people there to explain it all to her. And at least she doesn't have to carry that type of burden on her shoulders all of the time--it was just a one-time deal.

Here, what did they really have? A bunch of uncertainties and suspicions that really didn't leave them with much. Worse yet, it was all too possible that any suspicions they had were just conjectures--facts never proved anything, much less guesswork and correlations.

"Mister Dante and mister Vergil are... brothers, yes?" Esther mumbles quietly, thinking aloud. "And... I remember Miss Lady telling me about how they were dangerous, and when mister Vergil took-- well, I mean."

She sighs.

"I guess it's probably already been suggested that you talk to them, huh? And there's no guarantee that they'll really tell you anything. But, if it might help to quiet the voice..."

She's not being articulate anymore. Frustrated, Esther shifts over, extricating herself from Nero's coat and wrapping her arms around him from behind, resting her forehead on his back.

"Can you still hear it right now?"

"Twins," he says tiredly. "They're twins."

He runs a hand through his hair, heedless of the knots. He hasn't really had the time to do much more than stick his head under a tap since he's been back. Too busy doing other things. Thinking about stuff he shouldn't be thinking about. It's not that he's moping, or thinking about crawling into a hole and pulling it in after him. He's just... well, tired. Of the City. Of the curses. Of everything.

But he doesn't want to leave.

It's a thought that scares him sometimes.

"I've talked to Dante. He's useless." Sometimes.

"And Vergil is just 100 percent bonafide batshit. I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw the prick."

Another sigh. And then, when Esther wraps her arms around him, he tenses slightly. Not big on physical contact, remember? But he doesn't push her away.

"... All the time."

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