[The bar is a lonely place this late at night. Where Nishi came from, the bars were packed at all hours, but it seems the temporary residents of this foresaken tower care more about getting their beauty sleep. Not Nishi. Tonight, he doubts he'll get a single wink of sleep.
By the time Fandaniel walks in, he's slumped over at the bar, the stem of a wine glass held between limp fingers. Hearing someone walk in doesn't warrant a response on its own, but then...
...His instincts urge him upright, turning to see that his visitor is Fandaniel. Oh. Nishi smiles and cheers to him.]
What an unpleasant surprise! A wonderful way to cap off the night. Your comedic timing precedes you.
[Being shit-faced drunk doesn't do much to dull Nishi's tongue. On the contrary, it sharpens it.]
[ And here Fananiel is merely returning the bottles of wine that Moonstone did not drink. Sadly, he only partook a reasonable amount, rather than getting piss drunk like some people, it would seem. ]
Oh, Nishi. Drinking alone? Are you so mired in despair to fall to such a depth?
[ Glass clinks as he sets the bottles down on the bar, specifically out of Nishi's immediate reach, though he does indeed join him there, even if he won't take a seat just yet. ]
[Joke's on you, pretty boy. You can't fall any lower than rock bottom... but that leads him neatly to his next point.]
And here comes the devil himself, down to taunt me. Tell me, have you ever considered wearing white? That sort of gaudy, vulgar color would suit you. Besides...
[Nishi straightens, grip tightening on the delicate stem of his glass. With no hesitation, he tips it over, spilling red wine in a smooth arc across Fandaniel's head, christening him in crimson.]
[ Ah, there goes his shirt. Whatever shall he wear tomorrow if not his teacher outfit? Oh dear, oh my. While it wasn't all white, the shirt under his vest had been white, and that soaks up so much of the wine, marring it with deep red. ]
... [ Well. He reaches up with a gloved hand and wipes some of the wine dripping down his face, and he slowly licks it off. Hmm. Not a bad vintage, but when is anything in this place bad? The food and drink always seem to be divine. ] Such a waste of wine, good sir. I dare say you've had enough.
[Ah, good answer, Fandaniel. He'd look better lapping wine off the floor than he would be licking it off his lips, but Nishi won't be choosy. His hand darts out before Fandaniel can stop him, snatching a half-full bottle right off the table. It's not hard to imagine breaking a bone or two in that smug little face should he choose to swing at it with this thing.]
Maybe you're right. Maybe I've had enough.
[He tilts the bottle lazily in one hand, letting the liquid slosh around, his eyes never leaving Fandaniel's. He doesn't have to hit him with it, not yet— the possibility hangs thick in the air, more of a threat than a promise.]
But between the two of us, I'd say you're the one looking overindulged. Did you have fun at trial today? Are you jealous of Gabimaru, knowing his fate?
Ah, t'was nearly mine own fate, only to have it snatched away so cruelly.
[ Fandaniel barely reacts to Nishi grabbing the bottle. A simple tilt of his head, eyes flitting to the side to acknowledge that it has happened, but otherwise, he is unconcerned. His gaze returns to the drunken man before him, and his smile is unchanged. What he won't do, though, is make any sudden movements. ]
[Oops. Perhaps he's had too much to drink, the slip of honesty escaping his tongue without warning.
Have I always been such an ugly person inside? Nishi thought he was managing fine, and yet here he is. When it becomes clear that Fandaniel has no fear of the bottle, Nishi loses the compulsion to wield it like a cudgel ready to fall.]
You still haven't answered my question. [Why do you want to die so badly?] Believe what you will, but I would rather understand people than cut their lives short without ever having truly known them.
[ Aha. So the man would claim his death as his own. That's cute, in a way.
A lack of fear tends to defuse such situations. The violent grow bored and move on, although Nishi lingers regardless. His question? Ah, what was that again? He chuckles. ]
My, you had the perfect chance to ask me at the Dramaturge's little ball. We all played Twenty Questions, you know. [ He isn't sure he saw Nishi there, or at the very least, not amongst those playing the infantile little game. ] Would you like to play it after all? Just you... and me, here, alone.
[ No one and nothing to distract save for Nishi's own unpredictability in his drunkness. ]
[Despite frequently finding himself shunted into the spotlight, Nishi prefers sticking to the walls, only perceived when he wishes to be. Silly little games are only fun when he's hosting them, or when the stakes are high enough to pique his interest. In the case of Fandaniel's offer... well. He's listening.
Nishi sits back, kicking one leg over the other.]
If you're so eager to die, then it won't matter how long you know me or how much of me you know. By all means, let's play.
[They can occupy each other until death do they part.]
[ He will deny Nishi his answer a moment longer, but only a moment. He comes to sit on the bar stool next to him and plucks a used glass from the bartop nearby. With a half-full bottle still in hand, it'll be Nishi that he waggles it at, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
If he must satisfy the man's curiosity, he shall drink while doing so. ]
Who, Nishi, do you believe should hold power over others? Perhaps a deep question for a man so similarly deep in his cups, but I am terribly curious.
[As much as he'd like to front, Nishi is a sip away from blacking out and dying to an untimely concussion, so he'll drink in the sight of Fandenial nursing his wine instead.
It's a good thing the answer to that question comes to him naturally, as if an indelible truth his heart intrinsically knows. Nishi cants his head to one side, studying Fandaniel behind the mask.]
Power should rest with those willing to shoulder its burden. The ones who can lead others forward, not simply bask in privilege and wealth. Power is not the gift people think it is.
[Nor should it be thought of as such. It's a curse to bear, not a blessing, a pain that must be endured so that others can thrive.]
[ It's like an indirect kiss, wow~, but Fandaniel shall simply shrug and sip at the wine as he listens. Now, this would be when it was Nishi's turn to ask a question, but it would appear he has a part two for this one. ]
Of course. Now, what do you believe should be done to those who fail to lead those others forward?
[Nishi doesn't flinch at the weight of the question. If anything, he seems to settle more comfortably into it, like a man who has spent his entire life considering nothing else. His eyes, sharp even behind the mask, don't waver from Fandaniel.]
Those who fail in their duty to lead shouldn't cling to power. If they can't rise to the task, they must step aside— or be removed.
[Oh! Oh!! His turn! Pretend that he didn't forget the premise of this game and space out between questions.]
And you?
[What? It's a valid question. Don't make him think too hard.]
[ What indeed. He's quiet for a time as he ponders, drinking wine as his gaze unfocuses and stares past Nishi, as though he's not even there. A minute passes, two, and finally, ]
Once, I saw an empire bowing and breaking from its own pointless self-indulgence, a ship of rotten wood tossing and turning on a sea of fools, lost, directionless. All those who could trace their lineage back to our founding emperor... slothful, self-serving, uninnovative, dullards. They would squander our power, our greatness. It pained me so.
[Fascinating. To think they might share some common thread in how they view power is... not entirely unbelievable. After all, ordinary people always suffer under the ambitions of the few at the top. Resentment takes root easily when a lopsided power dynamic stretches on.
Fandaniel is clearly someone who cares — or once cared — about the place he came from. Could he have been a competent soldier? Perhaps Nishi would have known at some point, his uniform a testament to rank, but now he can only rely on his intuition.
That intuition suggests that Fandaniel might be a liability at best, a ticking time bomb at worst. How does he figure? Don't worry about it.]
Power inherited without purpose is worthless. Those who rely on privilege alone will inevitably crumble.
[Skipping past Fandaniel's turn, Nishi leans into his space.]
[ Fandaniel is nothing if not unpredictable. Some might say otherwise with how garish and overdramatic he is, but how true is all of that, in the end? Ask and he's liable to laugh. Insufferable, but undoubtedly dangerous. This, though? This he will offer candidly for once. ]
It is, isn't it?
[ He does not mind Nishi entering his space. He'll even move his wine down towards his lap to avoid the chance of him knocking into it and spilling yet more wine across his already damp, sweet-smelling clothes. ]
Why, I did what I thought best, and supposedly as the empire's most brilliant mind, I assumed it... would be enough.
[ Here, he sounds as though he doubts himself. ]
For a time, it was. I brought him back, our first emperor. My dear Xande. [ And there, a note of sadness, however faint, around that name. ] He spurred us forth again, rallying our spirit, our very soul, and expanding our territory with gusto. It was as if he breathed new life into us, and yet. And yet. It was not enough to save him. Even as the empire shone like the jewel it was meant to be, he was troubled by thoughts of his previous death. He could not shake it, having died once before, how... useless his life had been. How little it had mattered. That I had to bring him back to salvage his life's work.
In the end, I could not make him care for life, nor for the empire, once more. Power inherited without purpose is worthless, true, but even power in the hands of the worthy has its limits. In the end, all I had done was usher us into the final days of Allag.
[He would be hard pressed to do little more than condemn Fandaniel, hearing how honestly he speaks. Taking a life should never be easy, and by the same token, dragging someone back from death is perilous in its own right. It turned out to be a mistake, but at the time... would Fandaniel have pursued it if he had known how it would end?
The mask gives little away, but Fandaniel may feel the weight of Nishi's gaze regardless, along with the heavy silence that follows his admission.
How Nishi feels about it is... complicated. Maybe if he remembered the whole of his life, more than the jagged pains and that fathomless emptiness carved out by too many mistakes, he would have the words to reach this man. For now, he only has this, spoken honestly and without guile—]
I don't envy the burden your emperor carried. Living once is surely enough. He bore that weight dutifully, I'm sure... but everyone has their limit.
[There is no condemnation in his answer. Only the recognition of loss heavy enough to be felt even in words alone.]
You must have cared deeply for him. I'm sorry for your loss.
[Not just once, but twice. Fandaniel can be wrong and have been wronged, but that's what it is to be human.]
[ There's a soft huff, not quite a laugh, and he lifts the wineglass to his lips to finish off what remains in one fell swoop. ]
More deeply than anyone before, and never again after.
[ It's difficult to thank Nishi for his sympathy. It feels wrong. Fandaniel wears it poorly, like it cannot possibly be meant for a creature such as himself. Thus, he simply inclines his head, trusting himself not to say anything short of offensive in return. ]
Ah, but here I am rambling as though thoroughly sauced when I've barely drunk a glass at all. Shall we move on?
[—and never again after. The words hit too close. Some wounds follow a man forever, refusing to fade no matter how many years or lives he puts between himself and their origin.
The bitter amusement of sharing more common ground with Fandaniel than expected doesn't even inspire a laugh. He can't blame wine for dulling his edge— he and Fandaniel both wear sympathy poorly, and what little passes between them is gone in the space of a breath. Better, perhaps, to pretend as if baring old wounds doesn't sting afresh.]
Of course. We'll keep it simple.
[As if. His habit of pressing where it hurts will not be denied.]
[ What does he wish for? Haha, well, he won't laugh, but his smile lessens a hint. It doesn't leave, oh no, rarely will it ever, but... ]
Xande wished for oblivion, and so that is what I, too, wish for.
[ An end. It's all he's ever wanted. Finally, finally, to be reduced to nothing. However, Fandaniel is the one who isn't drunk; he knows he let Nishi double up on his questions. Fair enough, as he'd done the same. Now they can be back on even terms.
Empty wineglass set aside, he reaches out for Nishi's face instead. If allowed, he'll brush gloved fingers across the man's cheek and then settle them on the edge of his mask.
There's no attempt to remove it, though. ]
Why do you wear this? I saw you when you took it off, at the trial. All you are hiding is a beautiful face.
[The answer is one Nishi had already guessed: to follow the one who mattered most into the grave. There's no judgment here, no condemnation. He understands too well. A loss like that hollows a man forever, no matter how many lives he leads in the aftermath of it.
Perhaps it's unfortunate, then, that he does understand. If he didn't, he might try to coax Fandaniel toward something else to live for. But understanding means he can't lie. He knows exactly what it is to wish for the end.
He doesn't flinch when Fandaniel's hand comes near, doesn't pull away when the fingers graze his cheek and rest on the edge of his mask. Whether that's trust or something else, he isn't sure. All he knows is that he won't stop him should he move to remove it. After all, it's easier to speak truth when two men can look one another in the eye, soul to soul, much as they might otherwise be disinclined to.]
You think so? I suspect... there's far more history etched into this mask than I can clearly recall. I felt it was needed... to become the person people expected me to be.
[People need someone to rally behind— a strong figure, unflappable and impervious. If they ever saw what lay beneath, he doubts they would've thought half as highly of him.]
[ And remove it he does. It's a strange desire, to want to gaze upon Nishi's face without such a barrier between them. He would not normally care as to what someone did or didn't wear, mask or no mask, but here, it feels intimate. As if this is a sight only for him. What an odd want.
To want anything at all besides the death he seeks so rabidly, and for it to be something as simple as the sight of a face? ]
A symbol steeped in history and expectations, much like a crown sat upon your head. You need not wear a crown for me, Nishi, though I wonder... Are you perhaps meant to be my prince?
[ A prince and their princess, a groom and their bride; whatever foolishness this place is forcing upon them. ]
[What excuse does he have for the heat on his cheeks? The alcohol? The strange nakedness he feels without his mask hiding half his face? Or, more likely, the gaze fixed on him now, sharp as needles, precise enough to sting and leave him vaguely aching.
Nishi has also started to wonder what this place intends for the two of them— what kind of cruel joke or binding thread it means to weave from their connection, one that persists even after their less than stellar first impressions. Canting his head to one side, Nishi observes him in pointed silence, sharp as needles.]
How long were you lost, drifting in that crystalline world? Were you waiting alone for a prince to find you and steal you away from your fate?
[And how long would he have waited? Years? Centuries? How long does a soul yearn to be freed before it gives in and breaks?]
[ What did he give up from that time? He searches his memories, seeking some idea, some concept, as to what he's paid to be here. He awaited them, the arrival of the hero and their companions, praying to put a stop to—
A shiver runs through him, visibly so, and he closes his eyes briefly, freeing Nishi from his intense stare for only a moment. He breathes in, then out, and then his grey eyes open again. He sets the mark aside on the bar to ensure there's no chance of it tumbling from his fingers. ]
I am... unsure. I recall dying and sinking down into it to wait. I still had something to do, and refused to be washed away into its depths.
Mm. So, at that time, you weren't prepared to let go.
[Work left undone. Something left to do. Nishi wonders, then— was his own death like that? Did he have unfinished business, or had it been a deliberate choice?
If he trusts his gut, he imagines he died with every intention of burning in hell afterward. Perhaps even dragging someone else with him, desperate to perish but not perish alone.
He doesn't offer any salve for Fandaniel's anxieties; that isn't in him. Instead, he refills his glass and presses it insistently toward the other's fingers, a wordless go on.]
...But that's not the case now, is it? But there must be some reason why you haven't simply ended your own life.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Week 1: Post-trial
By the time Fandaniel walks in, he's slumped over at the bar, the stem of a wine glass held between limp fingers. Hearing someone walk in doesn't warrant a response on its own, but then...
...His instincts urge him upright, turning to see that his visitor is Fandaniel. Oh. Nishi smiles and cheers to him.]
What an unpleasant surprise! A wonderful way to cap off the night. Your comedic timing precedes you.
[Being shit-faced drunk doesn't do much to dull Nishi's tongue. On the contrary, it sharpens it.]
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Oh, Nishi. Drinking alone? Are you so mired in despair to fall to such a depth?
[ Glass clinks as he sets the bottles down on the bar, specifically out of Nishi's immediate reach, though he does indeed join him there, even if he won't take a seat just yet. ]
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And here comes the devil himself, down to taunt me. Tell me, have you ever considered wearing white? That sort of gaudy, vulgar color would suit you. Besides...
[Nishi straightens, grip tightening on the delicate stem of his glass. With no hesitation, he tips it over, spilling red wine in a smooth arc across Fandaniel's head, christening him in crimson.]
...White stains so much better.
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... [ Well. He reaches up with a gloved hand and wipes some of the wine dripping down his face, and he slowly licks it off. Hmm. Not a bad vintage, but when is anything in this place bad? The food and drink always seem to be divine. ] Such a waste of wine, good sir. I dare say you've had enough.
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Maybe you're right. Maybe I've had enough.
[He tilts the bottle lazily in one hand, letting the liquid slosh around, his eyes never leaving Fandaniel's. He doesn't have to hit him with it, not yet— the possibility hangs thick in the air, more of a threat than a promise.]
But between the two of us, I'd say you're the one looking overindulged. Did you have fun at trial today? Are you jealous of Gabimaru, knowing his fate?
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[ Fandaniel barely reacts to Nishi grabbing the bottle. A simple tilt of his head, eyes flitting to the side to acknowledge that it has happened, but otherwise, he is unconcerned. His gaze returns to the drunken man before him, and his smile is unchanged. What he won't do, though, is make any sudden movements. ]
Tell me, Nishi. Did you vote for me?
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[Oops. Perhaps he's had too much to drink, the slip of honesty escaping his tongue without warning.
Have I always been such an ugly person inside? Nishi thought he was managing fine, and yet here he is. When it becomes clear that Fandaniel has no fear of the bottle, Nishi loses the compulsion to wield it like a cudgel ready to fall.]
You still haven't answered my question. [Why do you want to die so badly?] Believe what you will, but I would rather understand people than cut their lives short without ever having truly known them.
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A lack of fear tends to defuse such situations. The violent grow bored and move on, although Nishi lingers regardless. His question? Ah, what was that again? He chuckles. ]
My, you had the perfect chance to ask me at the Dramaturge's little ball. We all played Twenty Questions, you know. [ He isn't sure he saw Nishi there, or at the very least, not amongst those playing the infantile little game. ] Would you like to play it after all? Just you... and me, here, alone.
[ No one and nothing to distract save for Nishi's own unpredictability in his drunkness. ]
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[Despite frequently finding himself shunted into the spotlight, Nishi prefers sticking to the walls, only perceived when he wishes to be. Silly little games are only fun when he's hosting them, or when the stakes are high enough to pique his interest. In the case of Fandaniel's offer... well. He's listening.
Nishi sits back, kicking one leg over the other.]
If you're so eager to die, then it won't matter how long you know me or how much of me you know. By all means, let's play.
[They can occupy each other until death do they part.]
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[ He will deny Nishi his answer a moment longer, but only a moment. He comes to sit on the bar stool next to him and plucks a used glass from the bartop nearby. With a half-full bottle still in hand, it'll be Nishi that he waggles it at, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
If he must satisfy the man's curiosity, he shall drink while doing so. ]
Who, Nishi, do you believe should hold power over others? Perhaps a deep question for a man so similarly deep in his cups, but I am terribly curious.
leaves the typo in there for posterity
It's a good thing the answer to that question comes to him naturally, as if an indelible truth his heart intrinsically knows. Nishi cants his head to one side, studying Fandaniel behind the mask.]
Power should rest with those willing to shoulder its burden. The ones who can lead others forward, not simply bask in privilege and wealth. Power is not the gift people think it is.
[Nor should it be thought of as such. It's a curse to bear, not a blessing, a pain that must be endured so that others can thrive.]
he's a fan of denial alright
Of course. Now, what do you believe should be done to those who fail to lead those others forward?
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Those who fail in their duty to lead shouldn't cling to power. If they can't rise to the task, they must step aside— or be removed.
[Oh! Oh!! His turn! Pretend that he didn't forget the premise of this game and space out between questions.]
And you?
[What? It's a valid question. Don't make him think too hard.]
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[ What indeed. He's quiet for a time as he ponders, drinking wine as his gaze unfocuses and stares past Nishi, as though he's not even there. A minute passes, two, and finally, ]
Once, I saw an empire bowing and breaking from its own pointless self-indulgence, a ship of rotten wood tossing and turning on a sea of fools, lost, directionless. All those who could trace their lineage back to our founding emperor... slothful, self-serving, uninnovative, dullards. They would squander our power, our greatness. It pained me so.
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Fandaniel is clearly someone who cares — or once cared — about the place he came from. Could he have been a competent soldier? Perhaps Nishi would have known at some point, his uniform a testament to rank, but now he can only rely on his intuition.
That intuition suggests that Fandaniel might be a liability at best, a ticking time bomb at worst. How does he figure? Don't worry about it.]
Power inherited without purpose is worthless. Those who rely on privilege alone will inevitably crumble.
[Skipping past Fandaniel's turn, Nishi leans into his space.]
So... what did you do about it?
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It is, isn't it?
[ He does not mind Nishi entering his space. He'll even move his wine down towards his lap to avoid the chance of him knocking into it and spilling yet more wine across his already damp, sweet-smelling clothes. ]
Why, I did what I thought best, and supposedly as the empire's most brilliant mind, I assumed it... would be enough.
[ Here, he sounds as though he doubts himself. ]
For a time, it was. I brought him back, our first emperor. My dear Xande. [ And there, a note of sadness, however faint, around that name. ] He spurred us forth again, rallying our spirit, our very soul, and expanding our territory with gusto. It was as if he breathed new life into us, and yet. And yet. It was not enough to save him. Even as the empire shone like the jewel it was meant to be, he was troubled by thoughts of his previous death. He could not shake it, having died once before, how... useless his life had been. How little it had mattered. That I had to bring him back to salvage his life's work.
In the end, I could not make him care for life, nor for the empire, once more. Power inherited without purpose is worthless, true, but even power in the hands of the worthy has its limits. In the end, all I had done was usher us into the final days of Allag.
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The mask gives little away, but Fandaniel may feel the weight of Nishi's gaze regardless, along with the heavy silence that follows his admission.
How Nishi feels about it is... complicated. Maybe if he remembered the whole of his life, more than the jagged pains and that fathomless emptiness carved out by too many mistakes, he would have the words to reach this man. For now, he only has this, spoken honestly and without guile—]
I don't envy the burden your emperor carried. Living once is surely enough. He bore that weight dutifully, I'm sure... but everyone has their limit.
[There is no condemnation in his answer. Only the recognition of loss heavy enough to be felt even in words alone.]
You must have cared deeply for him. I'm sorry for your loss.
[Not just once, but twice. Fandaniel can be wrong and have been wronged, but that's what it is to be human.]
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More deeply than anyone before, and never again after.
[ It's difficult to thank Nishi for his sympathy. It feels wrong. Fandaniel wears it poorly, like it cannot possibly be meant for a creature such as himself. Thus, he simply inclines his head, trusting himself not to say anything short of offensive in return. ]
Ah, but here I am rambling as though thoroughly sauced when I've barely drunk a glass at all. Shall we move on?
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The bitter amusement of sharing more common ground with Fandaniel than expected doesn't even inspire a laugh. He can't blame wine for dulling his edge— he and Fandaniel both wear sympathy poorly, and what little passes between them is gone in the space of a breath. Better, perhaps, to pretend as if baring old wounds doesn't sting afresh.]
Of course. We'll keep it simple.
[As if. His habit of pressing where it hurts will not be denied.]
What do you wish for?
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Xande wished for oblivion, and so that is what I, too, wish for.
[ An end. It's all he's ever wanted. Finally, finally, to be reduced to nothing. However, Fandaniel is the one who isn't drunk; he knows he let Nishi double up on his questions. Fair enough, as he'd done the same. Now they can be back on even terms.
Empty wineglass set aside, he reaches out for Nishi's face instead. If allowed, he'll brush gloved fingers across the man's cheek and then settle them on the edge of his mask.
There's no attempt to remove it, though. ]
Why do you wear this? I saw you when you took it off, at the trial. All you are hiding is a beautiful face.
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Perhaps it's unfortunate, then, that he does understand. If he didn't, he might try to coax Fandaniel toward something else to live for. But understanding means he can't lie. He knows exactly what it is to wish for the end.
He doesn't flinch when Fandaniel's hand comes near, doesn't pull away when the fingers graze his cheek and rest on the edge of his mask. Whether that's trust or something else, he isn't sure. All he knows is that he won't stop him should he move to remove it. After all, it's easier to speak truth when two men can look one another in the eye, soul to soul, much as they might otherwise be disinclined to.]
You think so? I suspect... there's far more history etched into this mask than I can clearly recall. I felt it was needed... to become the person people expected me to be.
[People need someone to rally behind— a strong figure, unflappable and impervious. If they ever saw what lay beneath, he doubts they would've thought half as highly of him.]
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To want anything at all besides the death he seeks so rabidly, and for it to be something as simple as the sight of a face? ]
A symbol steeped in history and expectations, much like a crown sat upon your head. You need not wear a crown for me, Nishi, though I wonder... Are you perhaps meant to be my prince?
[ A prince and their princess, a groom and their bride; whatever foolishness this place is forcing upon them. ]
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Nishi has also started to wonder what this place intends for the two of them— what kind of cruel joke or binding thread it means to weave from their connection, one that persists even after their less than stellar first impressions. Canting his head to one side, Nishi observes him in pointed silence, sharp as needles.]
How long were you lost, drifting in that crystalline world? Were you waiting alone for a prince to find you and steal you away from your fate?
[And how long would he have waited? Years? Centuries? How long does a soul yearn to be freed before it gives in and breaks?]
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[ What did he give up from that time? He searches his memories, seeking some idea, some concept, as to what he's paid to be here. He awaited them, the arrival of the hero and their companions, praying to put a stop to—
A shiver runs through him, visibly so, and he closes his eyes briefly, freeing Nishi from his intense stare for only a moment. He breathes in, then out, and then his grey eyes open again. He sets the mark aside on the bar to ensure there's no chance of it tumbling from his fingers. ]
I am... unsure. I recall dying and sinking down into it to wait. I still had something to do, and refused to be washed away into its depths.
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[Work left undone. Something left to do. Nishi wonders, then— was his own death like that? Did he have unfinished business, or had it been a deliberate choice?
If he trusts his gut, he imagines he died with every intention of burning in hell afterward. Perhaps even dragging someone else with him, desperate to perish but not perish alone.
He doesn't offer any salve for Fandaniel's anxieties; that isn't in him. Instead, he refills his glass and presses it insistently toward the other's fingers, a wordless go on.]
...But that's not the case now, is it? But there must be some reason why you haven't simply ended your own life.
cw: suicide mention
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