Aside from the ambiguity of what indulging in despair even means. . . I've never particularly indulged in anything. I've always had more important things to attend to than my own desires.
The only exception is something I cannot indulge in regardless.
Alright. He frowns a little at the miserable look? He didn’t want to make anyone miserable.]
How about this. If you had, let’s say, an hour left of your life, no responsibilities, no one would interrupt you . . . what would you spend it doing? It doesn’t have to be something large. Listening to a particular song. Wearing a piece of jewelry you’ve always admired. Thinking of new names for yourself.
Don’t think about it, answer quickly. Three . . . Two . . .
[That is truly Goth. Also. He doesn’t like that phrasing either, but it’s probably fine. She said she didn’t know the name, right?]
Can’t exactly do that here, but. Hm. Can you imagine it? In your head? Just go and spend an hour doing that. Thinking about it.
I think that would count. Don’t think about your responsibilities, just that body. Not exactly my sort of indulgence, but you’re built a little different from me, I think.
[She flushes a little, because the gothest thing you can be is horny for a dead body?]
I've tried so often to forget her, in order to fulfill my responsibilities. To stop fighting the visions - I think you're correct. That is what I must do.
[Oh goth girl, you have so many layers. Turning to slide over the bar, reaching for one of the bottles. Only two years old and not a trained counselor?]
I’d say if you’re . . . trying to be full of despair, you could take an hour and lay on the floor - like I said, not exactly my bag - but I do have to admit the phrasing “stop fighting the visions” gives me the heebie-jeebies.
You’ve met the people here, right? We are definitely all mad. And haunted too. I don’t think you come to this sort of place without being mad or haunted.
[He just stares at her for a second, mouth screwed up to the side. Then he points at her.]
I have known you two days, you know. Fuck. Fuck it, I suppose you already know some of the other shit. Might as well tell someone. What’s the worst that could happen? The worst already happened.
I don’t particularly care if you tell anyone. I’m just not very much about truth telling. It’s boring, and stupid and it won’t make you feel better.
I have memories that aren’t my own. A dead man’s. Not . . . visions, like yours. Sometimes dreams. So, you aren’t particularly more haunted than most of us. At least you’re not alone?
[That does distract her, because she's actually very curious about that whole deal. It's more interesting than her madness, which she's learned to adapt to.]
[Ah. Hmm. That's a complicated question, but it's academic enough that she'll answer it.]
It depends on the circumstances of the death. If the death was fresh enough, in some circumstances the body can be raised and the soul restored - in effect, a resurrection. Particularly in the case of a violent death, the soul doesn't always immediately depart. It can be coaxed back, or it can cling to the body as a revenant - a ghost.
If you intend to puppet the body as a tool rather than perform a resurrection, it is best to ensure it is empty, lest you create a vacuum for something other than the original soul to take hold. I have seen a spirit adept attempt to bring back a soul, only to find they've brought something dangerous back instead.
[you know how when a cat is very upset and its tail just starts whipping back and forth? That’s happening. Every piece of this information just makes his skin itch and his eyes burn.]
All a bit above my head, I’m afraid.
[. . .]
Being a ghost sounds fucking awful though, do just have to say that.
[Oh, hmm. Maybe she should've considered this less like a hypothetical math problem?]
In your case, you certainly aren't a ghost. You have a body, and you're in that body. You've been resurrected. You simply must manage to keep it that way.
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[She admits this a little miserably.]
Aside from the ambiguity of what indulging in despair even means. . . I've never particularly indulged in anything. I've always had more important things to attend to than my own desires.
The only exception is something I cannot indulge in regardless.
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Alright. He frowns a little at the miserable look? He didn’t want to make anyone miserable.]
How about this. If you had, let’s say, an hour left of your life, no responsibilities, no one would interrupt you . . . what would you spend it doing? It doesn’t have to be something large. Listening to a particular song. Wearing a piece of jewelry you’ve always admired. Thinking of new names for yourself.
Don’t think about it, answer quickly. Three . . . Two . . .
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I would gaze once more upon the body that lies inside the Locked Tomb.
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Can’t exactly do that here, but. Hm. Can you imagine it? In your head? Just go and spend an hour doing that. Thinking about it.
I think that would count. Don’t think about your responsibilities, just that body. Not exactly my sort of indulgence, but you’re built a little different from me, I think.
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[She flushes a little, because the gothest thing you can be is horny for a dead body?]
I've tried so often to forget her, in order to fulfill my responsibilities. To stop fighting the visions - I think you're correct. That is what I must do.
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Well, now, hold on.
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I’d say if you’re . . . trying to be full of despair, you could take an hour and lay on the floor - like I said, not exactly my bag - but I do have to admit the phrasing “stop fighting the visions” gives me the heebie-jeebies.
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[She seems to suddenly realize all of the things she's been saying, which are kind of unfortunate.]
. . . I've alarmed you. I apologize.
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Just would feel fairly terrible if I make a new friend and then immediately tell her to do something very bad for her health.
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[Leaning on the bar heavily, nails clinking against the bottle he has.]
Do you know what they are, or is it simply a mystery?
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[He just stares at her for a second, mouth screwed up to the side. Then he points at her.]
I have known you two days, you know. Fuck. Fuck it, I suppose you already know some of the other shit. Might as well tell someone. What’s the worst that could happen? The worst already happened.
[this still isn’t like, saying a thing.]
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[He doesn’t seem that comforted.]
I don’t particularly care if you tell anyone. I’m just not very much about truth telling. It’s boring, and stupid and it won’t make you feel better.
I have memories that aren’t my own. A dead man’s. Not . . . visions, like yours. Sometimes dreams. So, you aren’t particularly more haunted than most of us. At least you’re not alone?
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[That does distract her, because she's actually very curious about that whole deal. It's more interesting than her madness, which she's learned to adapt to.]
Do you know why?
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. . . If you can raise someone from the dead, does the body have to be empty?
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It depends on the circumstances of the death. If the death was fresh enough, in some circumstances the body can be raised and the soul restored - in effect, a resurrection. Particularly in the case of a violent death, the soul doesn't always immediately depart. It can be coaxed back, or it can cling to the body as a revenant - a ghost.
If you intend to puppet the body as a tool rather than perform a resurrection, it is best to ensure it is empty, lest you create a vacuum for something other than the original soul to take hold. I have seen a spirit adept attempt to bring back a soul, only to find they've brought something dangerous back instead.
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All a bit above my head, I’m afraid.
[. . .]
Being a ghost sounds fucking awful though, do just have to say that.
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In your case, you certainly aren't a ghost. You have a body, and you're in that body. You've been resurrected. You simply must manage to keep it that way.
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[. . . Anyway! Deflecting now.]
Do you know what would be an excellent way to bring about some despair?
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