"You have reached Solus zos Galvus. I fear I am unavailable at the moment, but should your query be of an urgent nature, pray leave a message. I shall endeavor to return it anon."
At Dirk's behest, he pauses, glancing to the futon. For a few moments he considers sitting, and eventually decides to do just that. There is no surprise in his features when Dirk says his part about Hythlodaeus, how there is some ill regardless of what Hythlodaeus' intent might have been. Hades supposes he cannot blame him, little do they share the bond he and Hythlodaeus does, and he is still just learning his ways.
"Right. Well..." He begins, his voice soft but steady, his gaze falling to his hands that lace in his lap as his brow pinches in the middle. Funny how when you have so much to say about a topic the words can seem so hard to reach once prompted. There is so much he could say, so much that needs to be said, yet he finds his throat clasping tightly shut as he searches for where to begin.
"His was a noble soul. Never did he refuse anyone who wanted for succor, a man ruled by his instincts and personal sense of justice—regardless of how it might make others view him. The Convocation, you see, we weighed the matters of the world, deliberated over the best course, and acknowledged the struggles there might be. Such matters would be debated, discussed, and decided upon by the group, and then we would act—or we wouldn't, depending upon the circumstance. However, Azem would oft act independently, little would he call upon us as his role dictated."
As he talks, his voice gets a little lighter, something like nostalgia gripping at it as his thumb idly strokes the side of his index finger. A soft, yet sad, smile pulling at his lips.
"He was a passionate one, though of few words and lesser affect than most... While I would hesitate to describe him as a fool, others incapable of understanding the depths of his decisions might label him thus. He would act when others would not—even if the odds seemed not in his favor. An inspiring force that would doubtlessly bring people together, oft seemingly by his very presence...as if his existence radiated hope like rays of the sun, instilling it in all whom would be so lucky to bask in it."
Finally, he looks up at Dirk with that melancholy, yet enamored expression that weighs as heavily in grief as it does affection. His pale eyes scanning over Dirk's visage before settling on his face.
"He was a man unfettered by the judgments of others, the only shackles that bound him were those of his own convictions. Truly an inspirational sort, even if chaotic and infuriating at times, but one with such a disposition is not likely to be aught else..." He huffs out a small laugh, as if a thought just occurred to him. There's a light and airy sound to it, his features notably losing some weight from them as he recalls the absurdity.
"My dearest friend was the sort that would sooner manifest the unstable aetherial energies of a volcano on the verge of eruption into an arcane beast to slay, than allow his favorite types of grapes to be lost to the natural disaster. An ingenious scheme, really, but far from one without its dangers, but that was how he always was, ever since I met him. Unconventional, uncontrollable, yet none would ever be so benevolent as he..."
It's.... not a great feeling, in some ways. There's a specific kind of recognition to it, the painful clarity of Hades' love for this guy that Dirk's never met. That he's being compared to, on some level. That the comparison is unavoidable and inescapable... it's a lot like being flayed alive, but Hades never once touches him. Maybe that's really what wounds him, but it's not really the time to unpack that.
It's.... uncomfortable, having Hades' pale eyes turned up at him like that. No, not uncomfortable. Familiar. Searching his face for some sign of... not mercy, not approval, but maybe a release. A reprieve.
"What the fuck," he scoffs softly. "You and both Hythlodaeus need your heads checked, then, because that doesn't sound like me at all."
When finally he responds, the quip earns him a conflicted smirk, but likewise the unthreading of Hades' fingers as he reaches out to place a hand on one of Dirk's clenched fists. A gentle, soothing gesture, one aiming to open his hand up so that he might take his hand in his.
"There are certain similarities, but if naught else, this proves my affection for you is born of your deeds and your personhood, not because I was trying to fool myself into believing you are who you clearly are not. I believe Hythlodaeus has seen these similarities as I have, but perhaps your differences are likewise the reason he sought you out as he did." He gives him an affirming squeeze.
"For you are not merely some replacement, some mock of the man we lost—you are you, and I would not ask for you to be aught else but he."
Dirk's hand doesn't open. Hades is forced to either hold the unyielding shape of his tight-closed fist, calloused knuckles and all... or accept that Dirk isn't accepting conciliatory gestures at this time. Most likely it's the latter, as he reaches out with his other hand to gently remove Hades' own, releasing it only to brush his fingers stiffly through the white streak in the man's lightly wavy hair.
"This ain't about me." He retracts his hand then, shaking his head. "Very literally. This is less about me than anything in the history of my entire existence, got it? Focus."
His surprise is plain on his face as he watches Dirk remove his hand, then release it to stroke his hair in an affectionate manner that almost fits Hades more than Dirk. Regardless it leaves his heart beating with warmth, even as Dirk sternly asserts what the topic is about.
"Yes, right." He responds softly. His hand hangs in the air for a moment, before returning to join the other in his lap.
"He and I met in the Akadaemia, much as I had met Hythlodaeus there. Though, thinking on it, his unusual approach to everything should have been all the warning I'd need to predict the future we would share--that his clash with the collective and the Convocation would eventually end with his resignation..."
His gaze falls again, his jaw pulling tight.
"...Hythlodaeus, Azem, and myself were...we three, while doubtlessly important members of our society, stood out among the others for our eccentricities. Though, I never thought that Azem would break ties with us--with Amaurot. He refused to take part in the summoning of Lord Zodiark. His intuition, or morals, whatever it might have been, would not allow it. And so...in the days leading up to the Final Days, he was nowhere to be found."
Here his voice wavers, though he sternly attempts to keep it in check. Even though it hurts to say this much, to admit that when they needed Azem most he abandoned them...that he would lose Azem twice, it was almost more than he could bear--yet he clearly could. Had no other choice but to carry on.
"The man that would fell me upon my return--the one that would inherit stewardship of the star from me--he is Azem reborn. Bearer of the soul of The Shepherd, though he remembers me not, remembers himself even less..."
One of the odder* things about Dirk Strider is something he himself only became aware of relatively recently in life--or if not the core feature, at least the extremity of it. Despite his dogged insistence on as-near-to-absolute stoicism as he can purposefully achieve in the face of life, his own face is also particularly insistent on a chilly impassivity he's never been able to break effectively, at least not on purpose. Some permanent disconnect between mind and body, maybe--or just another psychopathological manifestation of the blueprint later intended for use by some other splinter selfhood. Doc Scratch's perfect sphere, perhaps. Or if not that handsomely featureless (or was it featurelessly handsome?) orb, the necessary (lack of) neurological wiring for three years of incorporeal corporeality as the transhumanist pipe dream embedded in a pair of sunglasses.
The lines between 'intentional inexpression' and 'intentional expression' are notoriously blurry most of the time, but it is rendered in hi-def crystalline clarity now. The cold stone of his expression during a time like this--an event not unlike an event eight years in the past (as two young men sat, sharing a moment of confessional logorrhoea--a haemmorhage of the psyche, if you will--)
If he could have devoted any thought to the control of his expression and not just an acute awareness of its lack, he would not choose to stare down at Hades with a look of total apathy.
"Okay...." he enunciates the two syllables slowly--the first half crisp, if heavily weighted, the 'k' distinct; the second half, by contrast, drawls into silence a couple of tangible seconds after the foreign correspondent of its counterpart.
It's not that he didn't expect, going into all of this, that things would not develop in this vein. It's that he didn't expect the way this particular vein was punctured, from the inside. The gross, hot, thicker-than-watery blood spraying all over the walls and his face and getting in his mouth and thank fucking christ he's wearing shades or it would be getting into his eyes, and all of this is really just an out-of-control metaphor for the barely-controlled emotional experience of 'unpacking a whole shitton of baggage Emet just kind of announced at once?'
"Damn." He adds. Quiet. Toneless. Not quite a whisper.
"And you can't ask--"
Shit.
"--because you're dead."
Lowercase d, or at least in air quotes for the longevity of the story. Fuck. Wait. He starts to clarify--
"Too dead to give him that crystal--"
No. Wrong. Stop that one.
"--would you even want to?"
Worse. The worst.
"You don't have to answer. But you can. If you want."
Unless?
"I'm not leaving, though."
*(or potentially odder; let's not underestimate the overall oddity of the individual in question)
If there is anything that Hades has learned from his time with Dirk, it's how to read that apathetic countenance of his. Not unlike Hythlodaeus' own, less so in similarity of expression, and more the mask it serves to be. Where one might be hurt by the lack of emotion, Hades finds himself...comforted by it.
After all, opening up like this, letting his emotions pour out through words and tone, expression and gesture...that Dirk would hold himself stoic as a statue likewise helps Hades find his own grounding. The placidity that counters the quaking emotions rumbling inside of him
He isn't stupid, he knows this news did not leave Dirk unaffected, his questioning alone tells him much of that. Idly, Hades wonders Dirk's thoughts, and perhaps he will learn them yet, especially with his announcement of not leaving.
A simple comfort, but one all the same.
"My plan..." Hades begins, his voice low and controlled, yet there's the slightest quaver to it, "was to test this hero, to see if he was absolutely one worthy to know the truth. To know what had truly transpired, what their Mother--Hydaelyn--hid from them all for eons."
Once more his fingers lace, and he bows his head as his eyes slipped closed. His mouth pulling into a taught line as he grimaces thinking about all the damage he's had to undo--all the damage he's had to do, just so he could set things right.
He draws in a breath. Holds it. Then, slowly, breathes it out again
"He and his companions were on a quest to slay these beasts--sin eaters we called them, though specifically the lightwardens. For the world they ruled over was one consumed by light, save for a small section in which humanity struggled to keep their hold of. By doing so, and absorbing the aetherial energies released by each warden, they believed they could restore the world. Believed they could bring hope to the shard me and mine had brought to a perfect imbalance for the coming calamity..."
Opening his eyes, he looks up at Dirk again, his expression grim, yet there's something more behind his somewhat glassy looking eyes.
"I decided to join them, to observe their progress, to gauge whether or not the hero from The Source--Azem's reincarnation--would be ready to take up the mantle. Would he prove thus, then I would beseech him to use that light to slay me and my brethren, to take the torch so that we might finally rest--but he had failed. The light would begin to overtake him, begin to corrupt mind and body both--or so I thought."
He glances to the box that holds those stones, his brow slanting and pinching together as he gives it a sad smile.
"I had planned to bequeath it to him should he prove himself capable, but it would seem he only did so once we were engauged in combat. That he and his companions would slay me ere I could offer him the stone that rightfully belonged to him..." his voice trails off there for a moment, before he looks to Dirk once more.
"So, yes. I had designs to do just that, but it would seem fate was not quite finished with treating me with cruelty."
"Wait. Don't--just don't talk for... give me one minute. Time it if you have to."
It's not that Dirk needs a minute to put the pieces together. It's very much the opposite--he is hit with so many connecting pieces that the kickback from all those parts suddenly jerking into place and beginning their movement that it's actually difficult for him to steer the resulting machinery he's been put at the controls to.
Some of that difficulty is actually that he's trying, in the moment, not to be angry at Hythlodaeus.
If the way he stares at Dirk a little owlishly is anything to go by, he's surprised by that response. Perhaps he shouldn't be, not when he's given him quite a lot to process, and none of it is particularly light. They both know of their designs to die in order to achieve their duties, at least to some extent, but never had he laid bare the scheme behind his own.
And so, he simply nods, lowering his gaze to his hands; allowing Dirk what time he needs in order to gather himself. His words. His thoughts. Whatever it might be that needs to be done. Honestly, putting his design to words for the first time like this...it's not easy, and it certainly makes him reflect on his lot.
On all he's had to do, had to suffer, and for so long. That he'd look forward to his demise, that he'd try to likewise orchestrate Elidibus' as well in a final act of mercy and love...
What a sorry existence theirs has been, but finally they might know peace once again.
Sixty seconds is not a lot of time in most situations. Just like three feet is not a very large distance.
It's probably not enough time, in any case, to make the most thorough and completely informed decision about how much or whether to tell Hades when it comes to what's on his mind.
It is still enough time to come to a decision that is neither incomplete or uninformed, on the same matter.
"I'm going to have to take back what I said," he begins. It's easy to be calm. It's not his death, his life, his love--
It is his love. That's the problem.
But it's easy to be calm. He is vibrating, on an atomic level, a subatomic level, a level intrinsic and necessary and nucleic and (in)tangible--but this is his essence and this is his Self and this is his body, which is completely calm.
"I'm not 'a little' pissed with Hythlodaeus any more. I had some math to do real quick... and I'm actually pretty livid now. Not to undermine your previous statement, though, or steal your dramatic thunder. I'm just more certain of being right about everything than I had the opportunity to appreciate until... about sixty seconds and change ago."
He continues to to tower over Hades ("tower" might be a generous word), and in fact takes a couple of steps forward; the invisible, intangible vibration of energy in him has no physical reflection in his face or his posture, but it's in every cell, every muscle, every perfectly calm electric synapse.
"Your design hasn't changed. It's still in motion. You're dead, yeah--which, I guess, I should afford you congratulations on. Think about it for a second. You're dead. But you're not Dead. Your plan worked. You're not there bodily, but you don't have to be. You made your contingency for that, too. He ambushed me in the goddamn elevator to prove it, but he knows what you know, and that includes Azem's crystal."
He's quiet as Dirk talks. As he congratulates him on his death. To most, that would seem sarcastic or cruel, but from Dirk to Hades it isn't. Far from. Still, it does not feel real, and how could it? He hasn't experienced it yet himself, but he will. He most assuredly will, and that is exactly that: assuring. Yet, still his heart aches with an indescribable feeling, something that warms him as much as it chills him. Relieves him as much as he worries, there's belief, faith within him, yet there's still doubts.
Yet not enough to block the path for him anymore, it would seem. The path he knew was always there, but he couldn't take, couldn't see, despite it being there all along. His tempering shrouding it in darkness, but no longer...
As Dirk goes on, Hades keeps his eyes on him, focused and listening, yet his attention is doubtlessly split as his mind wrestles with itself. With the emotions kept at bay, kept in control, even as they threaten to erupt and spill forth like a geyser. They don't, however, instead Dirk gives him something else to focus on, an out if you will.
"What exactly did he do--what did he say to you? He has not spoke a single word to me of this, and I should know what he's been up to since his...return, of sorts. Especially seeing as he would take these soul stones and attempt to bequeath them without so much as asking me..."
Much easier to focus on the Hythlodaeus and Dirk problem than his whirlwind-like emotions inside of him at the moment.
Hades' misunderstanding jumps out at Dirk and practically slaps him across the face with the realisation of how much explanation this really demands. It's not that he was unaware; more that the timing only now strikes him as especially choice, in either a good way or a bad one.
A more empathetic person, a more human one, might have some sense of which it is. Humanity is, at its very core, a relationship to other humans. Its absence rarely bothers him any more, insensate as he is, but he knows enough to know what isn't there. To spot a difference, occasionally.
The difference is this:
Hades doesn't usually break up his sentences, doesn't stop and start or redirect. He's already formed those thoughts far ahead of speech, his words flowing seamlessly into the patterns he's worn into habit over lifetimes. It's jarring.
But he's already committed to this. More than that, he's certain of it. Of its purpose, its meaning, its trajectory. He's been armed and dangerous, but it feels like he has no choice: it's time to deliver the payload.
"Oh. No. This predates that particular bullshit. This is like five months of Machiavellian buildup, an excrucuatingly executed logistical slowburn scripted around your place along the sinuous ouroboros of the so-called mortal coil."
Dirk's hands move as he talks--illustrative gestures, his jaw pressed tight at the corners of his mouth, giving it (and him) a very square, angular presence.
"That first weekend you saw me--not as my body, but my Ultimate Self--back in June, I tripped on Hythlodaeus out in the woods. Non-literally, I mean. I didn't even recognise him at first, but he made a big deal out of the whole thing, and he tried to leverage your future 'death' to some ends that I didn't care about. Which I told him. Probably he had this whole thing in mind back then, but wasn't committed to me as the vehicle for it."
It's true. It is not often that Hades stammers, or changes the course of a sentence, mispeaking or anything of that nature. His words, his actions, everything is so thoroughly planned, calculated, and executed, that him doing anything of that sort is far more telling than it might be for near anyone else. That Dirk catches it isn't surprising, but that he doesn't quite address it, or give any indication of thus, might be.
Well, either way, Hades makes no clear indication that he's bothered by Dirk's apparent lack of noticing the slip in his eloquence. For the better, since what is more important is what Dirk is explaining. Fleshing out the missing pieces from their previous interaction, from when Dirk first learned of his fated demise of sorts.
Just how long Dirk had kept that information a secret from him being confirmed now. Idly, he wonders why Dirk kept it from him, he doubted that it was because Hythlodaeus asked him to. Was he worried that Hades would give up and abandon their plans if he knew he would return to death? That he'd find no reason to carry on, and thus Dirk would be alone again?
Such idle thoughts get tucked away.
"He has spoke of wanting me to attempt to reclaim my life for myself. That, given the inconsequential nature of this world and its lack of effect on our own, I should take this time to enjoy myself. To live a life free from the burden of duty I have been pressed under for eons..." As he speaks, his eyes fall to the stones again, and with a beat of a break between his words, he takes his stone. Deep purple with the constellation of Gemini upon it, a perfect contrast to his pale gold eyes. He runs his thumb over the surface of it, his brow pinching together.
"I denied him, seeing no reason I should potentially err so grievously for the sake of myself and what shallow comfort I may yet garner from this world. Do not misunderstand, merely seeking suffering for the sake of it is no better, likewise hindering progress, but I cannot well abandon my duty because there is a chance what I do here might not matter. That there is no hope to return properly, regardless of what we do. There are far too few certainties to act with such blithe disregard to our individual causes, and such arrogance will be our downfall. However, I believe he now understands that, and perhaps he is attempting a different approach."
This time, it's what Emet doesn't say, and more specifically doesn't ask, that's noticeable. It's actually sort of surreal--to see the holes, feel the jagged edges, and still have no idea what the polished image is supposed to look like. It's been a while since he had to talk to anyone like this. It's... frustrating.
"Right. He framed it all as an interest in your happiness. He still does."
Dirk crosses his arms tight over his chest, his head bowing slightly, the faint ghost-edge of a frown haunting the set corners of his stoic mouth.
"That's the thing about him. I don't know what Hythlodaeus--the OG--was like, but I don't doubt this one's a near-flawless facsimile of the guy. Probably no one but you could have made such a complete image of his person. He exists because you needed him, and he's taking the initiative to do what you needed him to do. Which is whatever you can't or won't."
His arms unfold, his shoulders rolling back as he watches the light reflect off what looks to be Hades' own crystal.
"So don't think I'm changing the subject when I ask this... but what were you planning to do with that one?"
He's silent for a long moment, before he just as silently retrieves Elidibus' (colorless with Ophiuchus' constellation), and Lahabrea's (sky blue with Pisces' constellation). He holds theirs in one hand, his in the other.
"...After the Sundering, we paragons--the Unsundered--made crystals of our memories of the others, but so too for ourselves. In part, they could help restore any memory lost, not that I had worries of my own memories being lost, but..." As he trails off, his eyes fall to Elidibus' and Lahabrea's crystals. His brow wrinkling with grief pinching it.
"The others were another matter. Regardless, the idea was that once we were able to restore our world, or must needs hand the torch over to those that may rise to take our place, they would have access to our memories. They would know the world that was lost, the truth, and the men who fought with every fiber of their eternal souls to restore it as it should be."
After the explanation, he places the two back in their places, while keeping his own within his grasp. Though, after a beat passes, he then hand sit to Dirk--for him to inspect it himself, if he so desires. The precious stone being the crystalized manifestation of all his memories--of his personhood, in a sense. Should Dirk take it, Hades will return to weaving his fingers in his lap, his eyes downcast as he begins on the other topic of interest.
"As for Hythlodaeus--he is much the same as he was when he lived. There are none as familiar with him as I, but when I made him...I had not meant to make him so autonomous. He was meant to add flavor to Amaurot, make it more believable, immersive, authentic... That he would be as he is now was a mistake on my part. A careless thought was enough to invoke such an existence. How very thoughtless and cruel of me."
In what must have been hundreds of late-night dialogues and early morning jam sessions and mid-afternoon work hour debates, Dirk has learned (sometimes the hard way) that his partner is an expert--perhaps too much of an expert--at retraining a conversation or topic to its original purpose or point, regardless of what Dirk may or want or intend.
If Hades is progressively moving away from the topic, Dirk knows that even if it's not happening on purpose, it's also not being done by accident.
He hesitates a beat, more surprised by the offer of something just as precious as Azem's crystal--if not more precious, even 'empty' as it is now. He takes it, though, with careful fingers, then turns his hand over to close them over the crystal, now pressed into his palm. And braces for the worst.
"....I don't want to talk about Hythlodaeus right now, other than what he's doing back in canon. This is about you and about Azem. I'm only talking about Hythlodaeus because it sounds like he might have engineered a chance for you."
The careful way that Dirk takes his stone tells him the weight of its importance, of its preciousness is not utterly lost on him. That Dirk not only understands, but respects what it means, even when they both know it has nothing that it should. It is merely a representation of what it should be, of what it should hold. Even then, the sentiment wrapped up in its visage is enough to invoke thoughtful handling.
It's moments like these that Hades knows he has not misjudged Dirk. For all his shortcomings, he makes up for them in the little ways that others would utterly fail at.
"Engineered a chance for me." Hades repeats the words, though they sound distant and... not quite hollow, but a close relative. "It is possible, yes. That he could achieve that. With Azem's shard doing as he has...freeing both myself and Elidibus, in a manner of speaking..."
As he trails off, so too does his gaze, his expression contemplative—thoughtful. Did the warrior kill them both, or did he...?
"...What is it exactly you wish to know of me and Azem? I feel as though I have touched on everything beyond minute and mundane specificities, but it does seem that you have something particular in mind." Finally, he looks back to Dirk, his expression somewhere close to neutral, more than it's been this whole conversation.
Dirk gives him the time to turn those words over, the possibilities he can see so clearly laid out for Hades' canon and narrative; the stone rests solid in his grasp, its weight pressed against the soft leather of his glove and the rough callouses of his hand itself.
He waits for Hades to come back to the topic, then takes a breath.
"It's the minute and mundane specificities that I'm asking for. It's like you're telling me about his character as Azem, but nothing about him personally or specifically. Like if I told you about Roxy, but didn't tell you what he was good at or what he did for fun or even what colour he typed in." It's been a very long time since Dirk brought Roxy up, and he knows it's kind of a gamble--that Hades will know what he means by invoking his name, or what he's leaving out, or that it won't backfire and turn into an interrogation he's suddenly on the receiving end of.
An interrogation that will not happen in the moment, but he certainly will ask about at a later date. He held off initially because Dirk did not revisit the topic, had not for the spanning months since he first heard the name, but now...
Now this opened doors.
With understanding, he nods, and likewise sees his error. Most would not care for the mundanities, would rather hear of deeds grand and heroic. But Dirk was different, Dirk is different, and perhaps that's why he's drawn to him. Not that mortals do not care for the humanity of heroes, but they also don't quite care enough.
But Dirk does.
It's an even and slow draw of breath that signals his collected thoughts, that he is ready to speak on the matter. And for all his fondness towards Azem's greatness, there's something deeper yet for the man removed of the title. Of who became Azem, and not what Azem made of the man.
"He loved people." He says with a sense of thoughtful measure to his tone. "Loved the world. There was little he enjoyed more than a feast with his fellows, of sharing stories, concepts, ideas... He loved life, loved the richness of it, the bounty of knowledge and mystery it held..."
His eyes crinkle with the soft smile that adorns his face as he looks on at Dirk, yet there's something about the gaze that would suggest he's...perhaps looking past him. Looking to the past, perhaps. As if seeing something that was beyond the mortal scope—beyond anyone's scope but his.
Then in the next moment, it's gone, but the warmth isn't. Not entirely. His expression is still soft and loving, but the depth of that admiration is decidedly put away.
"He was a traveler, not merely by his duty, but because he so loved the world, that he wished to behold it all. He could read about it, like most Amaurotines did, yet he would choose to witness it with his own eyes. Wished to learn of our neighbors, to learn of their traditions. Their beliefs. Their practices. To likewise observe the natural beauty of the beasts that roamed our star—ever was he a lover of such creatures."
He pauses a moment, his expression struck with thoughtful realization, before settling into a smug, knowing smile.
"So too was he a bit of a warrior—not that wars were ever fought ere The Sundering, but he enjoyed handling weapons. Enjoyed the thrill of combat—of course such methods were reserved for unruly beasts or the concepts he'd dispatch to right aether disturbances..." He trails off for a moment, before continuing with a slightly lower tone, "Unlike most of our kind, he leaned into the violence within our hearts, but it was not fueled by hatred one might otherwise associate. Nay, 'twas his love that guided his blade."
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"Right. Well..." He begins, his voice soft but steady, his gaze falling to his hands that lace in his lap as his brow pinches in the middle. Funny how when you have so much to say about a topic the words can seem so hard to reach once prompted. There is so much he could say, so much that needs to be said, yet he finds his throat clasping tightly shut as he searches for where to begin.
"His was a noble soul. Never did he refuse anyone who wanted for succor, a man ruled by his instincts and personal sense of justice—regardless of how it might make others view him. The Convocation, you see, we weighed the matters of the world, deliberated over the best course, and acknowledged the struggles there might be. Such matters would be debated, discussed, and decided upon by the group, and then we would act—or we wouldn't, depending upon the circumstance. However, Azem would oft act independently, little would he call upon us as his role dictated."
As he talks, his voice gets a little lighter, something like nostalgia gripping at it as his thumb idly strokes the side of his index finger. A soft, yet sad, smile pulling at his lips.
"He was a passionate one, though of few words and lesser affect than most... While I would hesitate to describe him as a fool, others incapable of understanding the depths of his decisions might label him thus. He would act when others would not—even if the odds seemed not in his favor. An inspiring force that would doubtlessly bring people together, oft seemingly by his very presence...as if his existence radiated hope like rays of the sun, instilling it in all whom would be so lucky to bask in it."
Finally, he looks up at Dirk with that melancholy, yet enamored expression that weighs as heavily in grief as it does affection. His pale eyes scanning over Dirk's visage before settling on his face.
"He was a man unfettered by the judgments of others, the only shackles that bound him were those of his own convictions. Truly an inspirational sort, even if chaotic and infuriating at times, but one with such a disposition is not likely to be aught else..." He huffs out a small laugh, as if a thought just occurred to him. There's a light and airy sound to it, his features notably losing some weight from them as he recalls the absurdity.
"My dearest friend was the sort that would sooner manifest the unstable aetherial energies of a volcano on the verge of eruption into an arcane beast to slay, than allow his favorite types of grapes to be lost to the natural disaster. An ingenious scheme, really, but far from one without its dangers, but that was how he always was, ever since I met him. Unconventional, uncontrollable, yet none would ever be so benevolent as he..."
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It's.... uncomfortable, having Hades' pale eyes turned up at him like that. No, not uncomfortable. Familiar. Searching his face for some sign of... not mercy, not approval, but maybe a release. A reprieve.
"What the fuck," he scoffs softly. "You and both Hythlodaeus need your heads checked, then, because that doesn't sound like me at all."
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When finally he responds, the quip earns him a conflicted smirk, but likewise the unthreading of Hades' fingers as he reaches out to place a hand on one of Dirk's clenched fists. A gentle, soothing gesture, one aiming to open his hand up so that he might take his hand in his.
"There are certain similarities, but if naught else, this proves my affection for you is born of your deeds and your personhood, not because I was trying to fool myself into believing you are who you clearly are not. I believe Hythlodaeus has seen these similarities as I have, but perhaps your differences are likewise the reason he sought you out as he did." He gives him an affirming squeeze.
"For you are not merely some replacement, some mock of the man we lost—you are you, and I would not ask for you to be aught else but he."
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"This ain't about me." He retracts his hand then, shaking his head. "Very literally. This is less about me than anything in the history of my entire existence, got it? Focus."
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"Yes, right." He responds softly. His hand hangs in the air for a moment, before returning to join the other in his lap.
"He and I met in the Akadaemia, much as I had met Hythlodaeus there. Though, thinking on it, his unusual approach to everything should have been all the warning I'd need to predict the future we would share--that his clash with the collective and the Convocation would eventually end with his resignation..."
His gaze falls again, his jaw pulling tight.
"...Hythlodaeus, Azem, and myself were...we three, while doubtlessly important members of our society, stood out among the others for our eccentricities. Though, I never thought that Azem would break ties with us--with Amaurot. He refused to take part in the summoning of Lord Zodiark. His intuition, or morals, whatever it might have been, would not allow it. And so...in the days leading up to the Final Days, he was nowhere to be found."
Here his voice wavers, though he sternly attempts to keep it in check. Even though it hurts to say this much, to admit that when they needed Azem most he abandoned them...that he would lose Azem twice, it was almost more than he could bear--yet he clearly could. Had no other choice but to carry on.
"The man that would fell me upon my return--the one that would inherit stewardship of the star from me--he is Azem reborn. Bearer of the soul of The Shepherd, though he remembers me not, remembers himself even less..."
[Dirk Voice] holy shit,
The lines between 'intentional inexpression' and 'intentional expression' are notoriously blurry most of the time, but it is rendered in hi-def crystalline clarity now. The cold stone of his expression during a time like this--an event not unlike an event eight years in the past (as two young men sat, sharing a moment of confessional logorrhoea--a haemmorhage of the psyche, if you will--)
If he could have devoted any thought to the control of his expression and not just an acute awareness of its lack, he would not choose to stare down at Hades with a look of total apathy.
"Okay...." he enunciates the two syllables slowly--the first half crisp, if heavily weighted, the 'k' distinct; the second half, by contrast, drawls into silence a couple of tangible seconds after the foreign correspondent of its counterpart.
It's not that he didn't expect, going into all of this, that things would not develop in this vein. It's that he didn't expect the way this particular vein was punctured, from the inside. The gross, hot, thicker-than-watery blood spraying all over the walls and his face and getting in his mouth and thank fucking christ he's wearing shades or it would be getting into his eyes, and all of this is really just an out-of-control metaphor for the barely-controlled emotional experience of 'unpacking a whole shitton of baggage Emet just kind of announced at once?'
"Damn." He adds. Quiet. Toneless. Not quite a whisper.
"And you can't ask--"
Shit.
"--because you're dead."
Lowercase d, or at least in air quotes for the longevity of the story. Fuck. Wait. He starts to clarify--
"Too dead to give him that crystal--"
No. Wrong. Stop that one.
"--would you even want to?"
Worse. The worst.
"You don't have to answer. But you can. If you want."
Unless?
"I'm not leaving, though."
*(or potentially odder; let's not underestimate the overall oddity of the individual in question)
cw: suicide stuff
After all, opening up like this, letting his emotions pour out through words and tone, expression and gesture...that Dirk would hold himself stoic as a statue likewise helps Hades find his own grounding. The placidity that counters the quaking emotions rumbling inside of him
He isn't stupid, he knows this news did not leave Dirk unaffected, his questioning alone tells him much of that. Idly, Hades wonders Dirk's thoughts, and perhaps he will learn them yet, especially with his announcement of not leaving.
A simple comfort, but one all the same.
"My plan..." Hades begins, his voice low and controlled, yet there's the slightest quaver to it, "was to test this hero, to see if he was absolutely one worthy to know the truth. To know what had truly transpired, what their Mother--Hydaelyn--hid from them all for eons."
Once more his fingers lace, and he bows his head as his eyes slipped closed. His mouth pulling into a taught line as he grimaces thinking about all the damage he's had to undo--all the damage he's had to do, just so he could set things right.
He draws in a breath. Holds it. Then, slowly, breathes it out again
"He and his companions were on a quest to slay these beasts--sin eaters we called them, though specifically the lightwardens. For the world they ruled over was one consumed by light, save for a small section in which humanity struggled to keep their hold of. By doing so, and absorbing the aetherial energies released by each warden, they believed they could restore the world. Believed they could bring hope to the shard me and mine had brought to a perfect imbalance for the coming calamity..."
Opening his eyes, he looks up at Dirk again, his expression grim, yet there's something more behind his somewhat glassy looking eyes.
"I decided to join them, to observe their progress, to gauge whether or not the hero from The Source--Azem's reincarnation--would be ready to take up the mantle. Would he prove thus, then I would beseech him to use that light to slay me and my brethren, to take the torch so that we might finally rest--but he had failed. The light would begin to overtake him, begin to corrupt mind and body both--or so I thought."
He glances to the box that holds those stones, his brow slanting and pinching together as he gives it a sad smile.
"I had planned to bequeath it to him should he prove himself capable, but it would seem he only did so once we were engauged in combat. That he and his companions would slay me ere I could offer him the stone that rightfully belonged to him..." his voice trails off there for a moment, before he looks to Dirk once more.
"So, yes. I had designs to do just that, but it would seem fate was not quite finished with treating me with cruelty."
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It's not that Dirk needs a minute to put the pieces together. It's very much the opposite--he is hit with so many connecting pieces that the kickback from all those parts suddenly jerking into place and beginning their movement that it's actually difficult for him to steer the resulting machinery he's been put at the controls to.
Some of that difficulty is actually that he's trying, in the moment, not to be angry at Hythlodaeus.
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And so, he simply nods, lowering his gaze to his hands; allowing Dirk what time he needs in order to gather himself. His words. His thoughts. Whatever it might be that needs to be done. Honestly, putting his design to words for the first time like this...it's not easy, and it certainly makes him reflect on his lot.
On all he's had to do, had to suffer, and for so long. That he'd look forward to his demise, that he'd try to likewise orchestrate Elidibus' as well in a final act of mercy and love...
What a sorry existence theirs has been, but finally they might know peace once again.
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It's probably not enough time, in any case, to make the most thorough and completely informed decision about how much or whether to tell Hades when it comes to what's on his mind.
It is still enough time to come to a decision that is neither incomplete or uninformed, on the same matter.
"I'm going to have to take back what I said," he begins. It's easy to be calm. It's not his death, his life, his love--
It is his love. That's the problem.
But it's easy to be calm. He is vibrating, on an atomic level, a subatomic level, a level intrinsic and necessary and nucleic and (in)tangible--but this is his essence and this is his Self and this is his body, which is completely calm.
"I'm not 'a little' pissed with Hythlodaeus any more. I had some math to do real quick... and I'm actually pretty livid now. Not to undermine your previous statement, though, or steal your dramatic thunder. I'm just more certain of being right about everything than I had the opportunity to appreciate until... about sixty seconds and change ago."
He continues to to tower over Hades ("tower" might be a generous word), and in fact takes a couple of steps forward; the invisible, intangible vibration of energy in him has no physical reflection in his face or his posture, but it's in every cell, every muscle, every perfectly calm electric synapse.
"Your design hasn't changed. It's still in motion. You're dead, yeah--which, I guess, I should afford you congratulations on. Think about it for a second. You're dead. But you're not Dead. Your plan worked. You're not there bodily, but you don't have to be. You made your contingency for that, too. He ambushed me in the goddamn elevator to prove it, but he knows what you know, and that includes Azem's crystal."
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Yet not enough to block the path for him anymore, it would seem. The path he knew was always there, but he couldn't take, couldn't see, despite it being there all along. His tempering shrouding it in darkness, but no longer...
As Dirk goes on, Hades keeps his eyes on him, focused and listening, yet his attention is doubtlessly split as his mind wrestles with itself. With the emotions kept at bay, kept in control, even as they threaten to erupt and spill forth like a geyser. They don't, however, instead Dirk gives him something else to focus on, an out if you will.
"What exactly did he do--what did he say to you? He has not spoke a single word to me of this, and I should know what he's been up to since his...return, of sorts. Especially seeing as he would take these soul stones and attempt to bequeath them without so much as asking me..."
Much easier to focus on the Hythlodaeus and Dirk problem than his whirlwind-like emotions inside of him at the moment.
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Hades' misunderstanding jumps out at Dirk and practically slaps him across the face with the realisation of how much explanation this really demands. It's not that he was unaware; more that the timing only now strikes him as especially choice, in either a good way or a bad one.
A more empathetic person, a more human one, might have some sense of which it is. Humanity is, at its very core, a relationship to other humans. Its absence rarely bothers him any more, insensate as he is, but he knows enough to know what isn't there. To spot a difference, occasionally.
The difference is this:
Hades doesn't usually break up his sentences, doesn't stop and start or redirect. He's already formed those thoughts far ahead of speech, his words flowing seamlessly into the patterns he's worn into habit over lifetimes. It's jarring.
But he's already committed to this. More than that, he's certain of it. Of its purpose, its meaning, its trajectory. He's been armed and dangerous, but it feels like he has no choice: it's time to deliver the payload.
"Oh. No. This predates that particular bullshit. This is like five months of Machiavellian buildup, an excrucuatingly executed logistical slowburn scripted around your place along the sinuous ouroboros of the so-called mortal coil."
Dirk's hands move as he talks--illustrative gestures, his jaw pressed tight at the corners of his mouth, giving it (and him) a very square, angular presence.
"That first weekend you saw me--not as my body, but my Ultimate Self--back in June, I tripped on Hythlodaeus out in the woods. Non-literally, I mean. I didn't even recognise him at first, but he made a big deal out of the whole thing, and he tried to leverage your future 'death' to some ends that I didn't care about. Which I told him. Probably he had this whole thing in mind back then, but wasn't committed to me as the vehicle for it."
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Well, either way, Hades makes no clear indication that he's bothered by Dirk's apparent lack of noticing the slip in his eloquence. For the better, since what is more important is what Dirk is explaining. Fleshing out the missing pieces from their previous interaction, from when Dirk first learned of his fated demise of sorts.
Just how long Dirk had kept that information a secret from him being confirmed now. Idly, he wonders why Dirk kept it from him, he doubted that it was because Hythlodaeus asked him to. Was he worried that Hades would give up and abandon their plans if he knew he would return to death? That he'd find no reason to carry on, and thus Dirk would be alone again?
Such idle thoughts get tucked away.
"He has spoke of wanting me to attempt to reclaim my life for myself. That, given the inconsequential nature of this world and its lack of effect on our own, I should take this time to enjoy myself. To live a life free from the burden of duty I have been pressed under for eons..." As he speaks, his eyes fall to the stones again, and with a beat of a break between his words, he takes his stone. Deep purple with the constellation of Gemini upon it, a perfect contrast to his pale gold eyes. He runs his thumb over the surface of it, his brow pinching together.
"I denied him, seeing no reason I should potentially err so grievously for the sake of myself and what shallow comfort I may yet garner from this world. Do not misunderstand, merely seeking suffering for the sake of it is no better, likewise hindering progress, but I cannot well abandon my duty because there is a chance what I do here might not matter. That there is no hope to return properly, regardless of what we do. There are far too few certainties to act with such blithe disregard to our individual causes, and such arrogance will be our downfall. However, I believe he now understands that, and perhaps he is attempting a different approach."
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"Right. He framed it all as an interest in your happiness. He still does."
Dirk crosses his arms tight over his chest, his head bowing slightly, the faint ghost-edge of a frown haunting the set corners of his stoic mouth.
"That's the thing about him. I don't know what Hythlodaeus--the OG--was like, but I don't doubt this one's a near-flawless facsimile of the guy. Probably no one but you could have made such a complete image of his person. He exists because you needed him, and he's taking the initiative to do what you needed him to do. Which is whatever you can't or won't."
His arms unfold, his shoulders rolling back as he watches the light reflect off what looks to be Hades' own crystal.
"So don't think I'm changing the subject when I ask this... but what were you planning to do with that one?"
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"...After the Sundering, we paragons--the Unsundered--made crystals of our memories of the others, but so too for ourselves. In part, they could help restore any memory lost, not that I had worries of my own memories being lost, but..." As he trails off, his eyes fall to Elidibus' and Lahabrea's crystals. His brow wrinkling with grief pinching it.
"The others were another matter. Regardless, the idea was that once we were able to restore our world, or must needs hand the torch over to those that may rise to take our place, they would have access to our memories. They would know the world that was lost, the truth, and the men who fought with every fiber of their eternal souls to restore it as it should be."
After the explanation, he places the two back in their places, while keeping his own within his grasp. Though, after a beat passes, he then hand sit to Dirk--for him to inspect it himself, if he so desires. The precious stone being the crystalized manifestation of all his memories--of his personhood, in a sense. Should Dirk take it, Hades will return to weaving his fingers in his lap, his eyes downcast as he begins on the other topic of interest.
"As for Hythlodaeus--he is much the same as he was when he lived. There are none as familiar with him as I, but when I made him...I had not meant to make him so autonomous. He was meant to add flavor to Amaurot, make it more believable, immersive, authentic... That he would be as he is now was a mistake on my part. A careless thought was enough to invoke such an existence. How very thoughtless and cruel of me."
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If Hades is progressively moving away from the topic, Dirk knows that even if it's not happening on purpose, it's also not being done by accident.
He hesitates a beat, more surprised by the offer of something just as precious as Azem's crystal--if not more precious, even 'empty' as it is now. He takes it, though, with careful fingers, then turns his hand over to close them over the crystal, now pressed into his palm. And braces for the worst.
"....I don't want to talk about Hythlodaeus right now, other than what he's doing back in canon. This is about you and about Azem. I'm only talking about Hythlodaeus because it sounds like he might have engineered a chance for you."
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It's moments like these that Hades knows he has not misjudged Dirk. For all his shortcomings, he makes up for them in the little ways that others would utterly fail at.
"Engineered a chance for me." Hades repeats the words, though they sound distant and... not quite hollow, but a close relative. "It is possible, yes. That he could achieve that. With Azem's shard doing as he has...freeing both myself and Elidibus, in a manner of speaking..."
As he trails off, so too does his gaze, his expression contemplative—thoughtful. Did the warrior kill them both, or did he...?
"...What is it exactly you wish to know of me and Azem? I feel as though I have touched on everything beyond minute and mundane specificities, but it does seem that you have something particular in mind." Finally, he looks back to Dirk, his expression somewhere close to neutral, more than it's been this whole conversation.
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He waits for Hades to come back to the topic, then takes a breath.
"It's the minute and mundane specificities that I'm asking for. It's like you're telling me about his character as Azem, but nothing about him personally or specifically. Like if I told you about Roxy, but didn't tell you what he was good at or what he did for fun or even what colour he typed in." It's been a very long time since Dirk brought Roxy up, and he knows it's kind of a gamble--that Hades will know what he means by invoking his name, or what he's leaving out, or that it won't backfire and turn into an interrogation he's suddenly on the receiving end of.
"It's pink, by the way."
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Now this opened doors.
With understanding, he nods, and likewise sees his error. Most would not care for the mundanities, would rather hear of deeds grand and heroic. But Dirk was different, Dirk is different, and perhaps that's why he's drawn to him. Not that mortals do not care for the humanity of heroes, but they also don't quite care enough.
But Dirk does.
It's an even and slow draw of breath that signals his collected thoughts, that he is ready to speak on the matter. And for all his fondness towards Azem's greatness, there's something deeper yet for the man removed of the title. Of who became Azem, and not what Azem made of the man.
"He loved people." He says with a sense of thoughtful measure to his tone. "Loved the world. There was little he enjoyed more than a feast with his fellows, of sharing stories, concepts, ideas... He loved life, loved the richness of it, the bounty of knowledge and mystery it held..."
His eyes crinkle with the soft smile that adorns his face as he looks on at Dirk, yet there's something about the gaze that would suggest he's...perhaps looking past him. Looking to the past, perhaps. As if seeing something that was beyond the mortal scope—beyond anyone's scope but his.
Then in the next moment, it's gone, but the warmth isn't. Not entirely. His expression is still soft and loving, but the depth of that admiration is decidedly put away.
"He was a traveler, not merely by his duty, but because he so loved the world, that he wished to behold it all. He could read about it, like most Amaurotines did, yet he would choose to witness it with his own eyes. Wished to learn of our neighbors, to learn of their traditions. Their beliefs. Their practices. To likewise observe the natural beauty of the beasts that roamed our star—ever was he a lover of such creatures."
He pauses a moment, his expression struck with thoughtful realization, before settling into a smug, knowing smile.
"So too was he a bit of a warrior—not that wars were ever fought ere The Sundering, but he enjoyed handling weapons. Enjoyed the thrill of combat—of course such methods were reserved for unruly beasts or the concepts he'd dispatch to right aether disturbances..." He trails off for a moment, before continuing with a slightly lower tone, "Unlike most of our kind, he leaned into the violence within our hearts, but it was not fueled by hatred one might otherwise associate. Nay, 'twas his love that guided his blade."