summonthesuit | IC Inbox

[Diavolo's priorities are centered around himself, now just as much as they did in his human life. "Justice", as a concept, inherently revolves around him. What is just is what benefits him. His enemies are unjust by virtue of their existence; all that they do is tainted because of it. The morality of killing another and eating their soul is not always black and white. When Diavolo does it, it is a virtuous act — he guides the soul to where it belongs, to where it has always belonged, long before Diavolo arrived, his from the moment it burst into existence. But when someone kills and consumes him — or, for that matter, anyone in the small circle he has slowly grown protective feelings for — then it is abhorrent, a vile deed that deserves due punishment.

Steven, in Diavolo's mind, is gently nudged towards that tiny category of people he feels some vague urge to nurture. Steven is like him — he ought to be living to his fullest. How he copes with daily life when eating is distressing is beyond Diavolo.]

Don't misunderstand me. You can devour the flesh of others and not lose yourself completely. Resorting to such base instincts is demeaning, but, at the end of the day, it is still you in control. But ... it is easier said than done. As a human, when desperation forced me into action I would never otherwise take, it wasn't nearly so hard to stop and return to normal. As a monster, with a monster's drive to consume ... it can feel as though someone else is in control entirely.

[He remembers, months ago, blinking awake from a nap he was not taking, so far from home, lost and amid a pile of corpses bearing gashes from his own bloodied claws. He remembers the terror he felt then, the thought that it was not him.]

[And there it is. There's the threat that ensures Steven will feed of his own volition, despite how much it unsettles him. What happened out in that foggy wasteland beyond the mountains, way back in August, was even worse. Losing consciousness and then snapping instantly back into awareness beside a corpse is familiar to him in all the worst ways, and it'd become a continuing nightmare. He'd gotten himself caught in a vicious cycle of using so much of his own power to hunt down prey, the feeding barely helped. If not Marc, then who was responsible? Was it him, or...?

He's already talked this over with both Atem and Cervo. It's not really a secret he's trying to keep.]

Yep... That's how I know I haven't gone too hungry for a while. 'Long as I feed about once every four weeks, it's me doing the feeding. I've got the control and the memories, all of it. But there was one time where I waited too long and... [He sits up straighter, his hands slipping from the table into his lap.] I dunno. I dunno if that was me. Maybe it wasn't.

Oh? [Now you've got Diavolo curious. He will poke at this small revelation, untangling it in search of any common thread that binds them.] I have heard that it is not uncommon for those who deny their instincts to fall victim to them entirely. The inner beast — or whatever you wish to call it — takes charge and takes all that it needs to survive. But, for most, the difference is purely metaphorical. They and their instinct are one and the same, no matter how far they try to distance themselves from it.

["For most". There is at least one glaring exception to this rule, and it comes in the form of Cervo. In Diavolo's best estimation, Cervo is a bundle of monster instincts turned whole, a second being fully forming in a body built for two but left imperfect and hollow.

It could be a coincidence. He has not sat and interviewed all of the monsters who have lost control, he has not searched for patterns. All he has is Steven's story, which is starting to paint a familiar picture.]

You say you have the memories of the times you feed. An interesting detail to point out... Do you not remember this incident, then?

[The 'inner beast', huh? Steven would like to think he doesn't have one of those. That he wasn't put together to include something that vicious. Trouble is, things are different from back home. He's on his own now, and unsure how that affects him. Maybe, with enough time, he'll grow into something he wasn't intended to be. Maybe all those empty spaces in his mind- or his heart- whatever one calls it- will be filled with less than desirable things.

Or maybe someone hitched a ride with him to Ryslig. He never got to confirm it back home, but he does have a suspicion that maybe it wasn't just Marc and him. But that's too hypothetical to take seriously.]

No, I don't. It was back when we were all teleported across the mountains to that old mining town. I dunno if you were there [and he's not leaving any pause there to answer that, because the words are flowing from his mouth like a waterfall now-] but the fog was a bit funny there. And I hadn't fed once before then, 'cause I was only just getting settled as Naphil. So the second I set foot there, things already felt... off, but then I used my powers to purify some water and I just... [He makes the strangest motion with his hand, like mimicking an explosion with his fingers right in front of his own face.] Lost hold of myself, I s'pose you could call it. Next second, I'd already fed on someone.

The loss of control is a terrifying thing. But — you reclaimed control in the end, and you keep it even now. If — as you worry — there is another ... and if eating is enough stave them off, then their only concern may be consuming enough souls for sustenance.

[Again, Diavolo pictures Cervo, who lives only to eat. It feels so natural to Diavolo that two could coexist, entwined so deeply in each others' lives. He doesn't realize how much he feeds into these ideas, how he entertains the thought. It would be ... nice, he thinks, to have someone to relate to on that level. If any of this is factual, if it isn't just the work of the overactive imagination of a man desperate to avoid taking responsibility for his own actions ...

Then, with his missing memory and his body acting on another's whims — more than anything, Steven reminds him of Doppio.

Ugh. That is far too much to project onto someone he's only just met. Still. With Cervo and Doppio, he maintains a balance. He does not speak of Cervo to Doppio; it is Cervo's choice to reveal himself, if he so desires. He lacks that respect for Steven or the theoretical other with him. So he pries further.]

That is, assuming feeding was the only goal. Were you unaware for long? The one "you" fed on — were they anyone to you? Someone you were familiar with, or just an unfortunate bystander?

[There's a lot of factual errors being thrown Steven's way right now. And it's his own fault, he realizes, for being vague about what happened. Of course Diavolo would assume he fed on just one person. Of course he would assume Steven regained control on his own, in the end.

He's about to respond when he sees the waitress lift up a cup of coffee, over by the counter, and the haphazardly-chosen words die in the back of his throat. Probably for the best. Waiting for the waitress to approach and set the coffee down gives him time to try and phrase it better. He gives her a quick, vague nod of the head in thanks and watches her retreat again. His right hand finds the coffee cup, the warmth seeping into his palm, and he finds himself unable to meet Diavolo's gaze.]

It wasn't... just one person. It started out that way- someone I know- but I got hungry again within four days. So I ran into the woods. And then... [He falls silent for a few seconds, his eyes scrunching shut.] I was lost for days. I'd snap out of it for minutes, an hour at most. But it was the fog over there, I reckon. And the powers used for... for hunting. I just... I kept losing myself over and over.

[Diavolo takes in the new information, comparing it with what he knows of Cervo, of Doppio, of himself, of this world.]

I suppose it could have been a side effect of the fog in that wasteland. An outside force altering your nature and driving you to feed, rather than an inside force acting on its own desires. [He acquiesces, and his tone is so different than it was when he was questioning Steven. For a moment, he sounds nearly disappointed. And why wouldn't he be? For a moment he dared to imagine that this table could be seating three — that someone here just might understand him.] That would neatly explain why it has not happened since. It — hasn't, correct?

Nnnot since, no.

[Which might already imply something to Diavolo, but... Well, Steven's already talking now. And for some reason, he feels like he can really open up to this man. It might be because Diavolo has been a very nice, reasonable listener up until now. Or it might be because Diavolo's evoking a sense of kinship. Either way, it spurs him on to keep going.]

Um. It felt similar to something that'd happen back home, so that's not very nature-altering, is it?

[That draws Diavolo's attention. He leans in, elbows on the table, for a closer look. It's scrutiny at its finest, and it isn't Steven's expression that he's examining. He had tells, he knows, in brief moments surfacing — a flash of the eyes, a twitch of the lips, a subtle shift in posture. Cervo's physical presence may be bound to the fog, but, until Diavolo has proof that that rule applies to others as well, he will look for signs of another with them. And, if he finds any, he will dig in and pry whoever he finds out.]

I know of someone, [he says, softly, not breaking his intense stare,] who might say the same. Go on. Tell me what is so familiar about losing control.

[It could be nothing. He could have been a man prone to wild mood swings and nothing more — or it could be the answer Diavolo is searching for. What connects them? Why did the Fog fashion them into forms so similar?]

[Diavolo knows of someone else like that, huh? He wonders if it's Doppio, but doesn't want to assume. The name was left out for a reason, Steven assumes, so he knows better than to pry.

Steven's tells, at the moment, are entirely his own. A pained frown, the thinning of his lips... His index finger taps against the side of the coffee cup. Marc scolded him for telling others, that first day he came to Ryslig. But really, what was that? Two weeks in more than six months- just a meaningless speck of time, and Marc might never come back again. Just as it always does, that thought fills him with a combination of loss and spite. He swallows thickly, his gaze still stuck on the table's surface.]

Back home, it's not... just me, living in this body. My mind- Our mind got split up over time. It started when we were young lads, but me, the way I am now... I didn't really exist as a full person 'till a few years ago, I expect. And I didn't... [He breaks off for a second, interrupted by a sharp chuckle-like breath that doesn't hold a shred of amusement to it. It's strained and almost desperate.] I didn't even know that he was there. I didn't know my memories were just made up. 'Cause he didn't want me to know, did he? The whole point of me was to live a normal, carefree life. But he'd have to take control sometimes- when I was in danger, and that... That was what it felt like. 'Cept, he's not here now. It's just me. So it can't be him, can it?

[It's a lot to take in, a lifetime packed into a few sentences. And the confession weighs heavily on Steven, it's obvious in everything from his stammering to his harsh laugh. There is so much to focus on, so much to unravel, and he can barely process it. He will take it all in, but — first things first.

If Steven were to look up, he would see the smile playing on Diavolo's lips, slight at first and quickly growing into something he cannot fully contain.]

No, [he agrees.] It can't. It is beyond the Fog God's capabilities to pluck two souls from a world and place them into the same body. I know this to be true. I have asked her. But ... that does not mean you are alone.

[He does look up- only a fraction of a second at first, because he's instictively curious whether Diavolo might be disgusted. Or laughing at him. Or just full of disbelief. His gaze is already averted again before he's fully processed just what it was he saw. ... A smile? Why...?

With that realization, he sits up straighter, lifting his head upwards again to look Diavolo's way properly.]

Oh... Why is that? [He's got several answers coming to him, one more literal than the next, so he'd like to know what exactly Diavolo's getting at.]

I am saying, Steven, that it seems someone is with you. Another in your body — not this person you know from home, but someone new, someone born in this place, perhaps in that very wasteland where they first took control and fed when you would not. There are precedents.

[Or one precedent, at least — in the form of the deer. The smile does not fade, and Diavolo's tail flicks behind him, an unconscious act, infrequent in this form. Angels do not have the same instincts as beasts. But, despite that, sometimes a revelation is tail-flickingly intriguing, and so he allows it.]

I was afraid of that.

[The words slip out with so much ease, he comes to regret them immediately. Cervo had asked him before whether he was afraid of having another in his body. And he isn't- not in the broad sense. He's afraid of the implied details, the fine print. So he shakes his head harshly, trying to correct himself as fast as possible.]

Not of- of them. But if there is someone else, it means they haven't gotten to come out for months on end. It's like being in a prison, innit? 'Cept worse.

[With that, he finally raises the coffee cup to his lips. There's a bitter taste forming in his mouth, and he'd like to wash it down.]

There are far worse places to be. It can be a... comforting thing, having someone to rely on day-to-day.

[What Diavolo knows best is what Diavolo has lived. He was content to curl up, to live a life in the shadows, to be left with his own thoughts while Doppio attended the needs of their daily life. If ever there was a time where, for months, he wasn't needed, not to crush opposition, to type up an email, to tend to something that Doppio could or would not — he would be perfectly fine with it.]

You think of them as imprisoned, but ... nothing is stopping them from emerging, correct? They may simply be content with the way things are.

[Diavolo may know best what he's lived, but so has Steven. There's one particular image he just can't shake: a curious room inside the mental ward representing their afterlife, empty except for one thing. A sarcophagus just like the one he'd been imprisoned in, wobbling in place, a furious pounding coming from inside it. If they'd stopped to open it back then...]

I hope that's what it is. But what if it's not? What if hunger's the only thing that gives them enough power to take the body? Or it's the only thing that can open that... [He gestures erratically between himself and Diavolo as he tries to find the right word.] That door between us? Keeping fed could be what's stopping them from emerging, but if I... If I go hungry to test it, who's to say they won't feed on one of my mates? Who's to say they even exist at all?

The only way to be sure is to test. If they will not communicate with you, then you will need to make the first step. Existing together without coordinating your efforts will lead you both to disaster.

[Diavolo is committed; he speaks as though there being two of them is a given. It is what he wants to be true, if only to have someone to relate to.]

Mmm...

[He doesn't know if he can test it. He made a promise to Quentin that he'd always feed in time, and since they hunt together, the man will know if he skips out on 'meals'. And if things do go wrong and Steven loses himself to someone who will feed on the first person they see, chances are that person would be Quentin too. He can't risk that.

He takes a quick sip of his coffee again.]

I tried putting up notes in my flat. So if they were to wake up at some point, they'd see them. Maybe write back. Hasn't happened yet, though.

Notes are a good idea. Although I would assume they are regularly conscious and aware of your surroundings to at least some small extent. [Diavolo certainly was, and Cervo, too, now] Talking to them would work just as well. Although few, I think, would be brave enough for that.

[Doppio is a glaring exception to that rule. No questioning, no doubt, no shame. Pick up the "phone" and speak.]

[Steven's lips curl into a bitter smile at that last sentiment, just for a few seconds. Cowardice isn't what's throwing a spanner in the works, there.]

I tried. The only way I know how, anyway.

[He's spoken plenty with Marc, back when they were both aware of each other. It'd felt a little strange at first, but it'd been easy enough to get the hang of. That trick doesn't work anymore, though. His reflections are just him and the more he tries to get in touch with anyone else, the sillier he feels about it.]

If they are regularly conscious, they're not willing to answer. Or can't.

[A heavy sigh as Diavolo thinks ... and thinks ... and comes up with no solution.]

Then, I suppose, you are at an impasse. It must be frustrating to be so close yet have no answers. If you do not wish to test their limits, and they do not wish to communicate ... then all you can do is wait for them to reveal themselves on their own terms. "You", I presume, will be pushed to the wayside once more when it happens. I hope you have a plan in place beforehand. If they are as erratic and violent as your story suggests, you must be prepared.

[It's really nice, in Steven's opinion, that Diavolo's giving the matter so much thought. That he's trying to help. They've only just met, after all. But maybe it's because he's already gained a lot of experience with stuff like this through Doppio.]

... How am I meant to prepare for someone who basically knocks me unconscious? And if they're aware of anything I do, they'll be aware of any plans I make to restrain them, won't they? [He pauses for a few seconds, his frown straining even further.] I can't... ask anyone else to get involved. 'Cause I don't want anyone to get hurt. Or worse.

Hm? I did not mean to imply that you should restrain them. You are the one concerned with keeping them at bay.

[They — if they do exist — have every right to their existence. Steven's concern here is safety; while it is not what interests Diavolo most about this subject, he plays into it.]

You can make steps to ensure that those you care about are kept safe. I do not know how similar the two of you look, but ... suppose someone approaches them, unsuspecting, thinking they are speaking to you. What will happen then? What is it drives them to action? Self-defense, hunger, anger, jealousy, something else...? Can you give those you cherish a proper warning if you do not even know what you aim to protect them from? If you do not speak, you will never find the answers. If you cannot speak, then someone else must do it on your behalf.

[His intensity ramps up as he speaks. He maintains a low tone, serious and sincere, but it's hard to disguise the intrigue he feels at the prospect of this other half to Steven.]

And I am willing to be that person.

[Huh. The notion of 'preparing' for someone erratic and violent held a strong implication of restraining in Steven's eyes. Physically restraining, anyway, to stop them from harming anyone else. Steven's perfectly willing to hand the body over for a while, but not if it leads to a massacre. It's true there are other steps to take, but... Yeah. The erratic and violent bit is what worries Steven most, where that's concerned.

All the more reason for Diavolo's offer to catch him off guard. He sets his coffee cup down, astounded.]

Ah- No, I couldn't ask that of you. What if you get attacked?

[How odd, this little display of emotion. Diavolo can reassure him.]

Then either I will hold them off, or I will be killed in my attempt. [It's a simple fact, a nonchalant statement.] But, you need not be concerned — I would not strike to kill, knowing that both of your lives are at stake.

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, HASNOFEAR. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 13.15.15.14 * HASNOFEAR has joined 13.15.15.14 <HASNOFEAR>** Hello! This is Steven Grant! If you need something, just leave me a message and I'll get back to you asap!

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local neph is surely COMPLETELY misreading the situation but hes convinced hes right

OOOH BOI

he is processing this all from his own perspective

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oops my momentum fell off. i return

Yay!~

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