summonthesuit | IC Inbox

[The message leaves Steven a bit confused. Another Naphil? It sounds like this one has been here for a long while already. He doesn't remember seeing the username before, but that doesn't mean much; he doesn't pay much attention to those. It's great, though, that there's another! Is this why Doppio asked him for his channel number?]

Hello! It's nice to meet you.

I've met three others in my time here, but one of them is still going through the last of her changes, I expect. The other two were just Nephilim temporarily. Not really the same thing, is it?

[Well, maybe it's three temporary Nephilim if he counts Cervo separately, but... Cervo might not want to be counted.]

I was a bit unsure about it at first, but I think I really grew into it over time. Not being able to get a good sleep gets under my skin sometimes, but I paid Mana for eight hours a week, so that's already loads better than before. Now it's just the 'eating souls' bit that bugs me most. I don't know if I'd prefer meat or marrow or anything like that, though. I'm not sure I could keep it down.

[He's rambling. He should stop rambling.]

I'm not predisposed to solitude, I can tell you that. Being alone for too long drives me up the wall, actually.

[It's uncomfortable to be speaking to someone new, as safe as he is curled up at home as he types, but the wave of words is somewhat reassuring. This Steven is free to speak about himself all he likes.]

Indeed, it isn't the same. Truth be told, I have met a few others like us, but they were only temporarily changed. It is nice, I think, to speak to someone else with similar experiences.

Ours is a flashy form, attention-drawing in all the worst ways. But I, too, have gotten used to it over time. The first few months without sleep were unbearable. Sleep itself can be a dreadful thing, but to be deprived of it completely yet unable to thrive in the dark? It seems like a terrible flaw, and the winter months here are so very harsh. This is my second time experiencing them.

Is soul eating truly so bothersome? It seems to be one of the more pleasant feeding methods available. I have spent time as meat-eating monsters, and the physicality of consuming bodies can be rather vile. In the moment, the hunt is exhilarating, but in retrospect I must question what was going through my mind.

I will be the first to admit that I am not a social creature [understatement of the year] but loneliness is a horrific thing. I have spent far too much time truly alone. Never again.

[That first paragraph instantly reminds Steven of the time he first reached out to Norman Osborn. Not because he was a fellow Naphil- because he wasn't- but... Well. Similar experiences, nonetheless. He gets it.]

The nights feel too long, right? I've got a few projects to keep me busy, and sometimes I'll spend the night with my boyfriend, but it's still maddening when other people have to sleep and that eerie silence falls over the place. I like to go out at night when the fog rolls in, just because I can.

And yeah, noshing on other people IS vile! I don't eat meat at all, actually. None of it. I'm vegan. If I had to take a bite of a person, or drink their blood or anything like that... In the physical sense, my stomach could take it, but all the thoughts that go with it would leave me too queasy, I reckon. Trouble with devouring souls is I keep wondering how that affects the victim's afterlife. Am I just destroying some poor sod's eternal peace forever?

[There's a pause before he's really figured out how to respond to that last bit.]

Do you have someone now to fend off the loneliness?

[The person I live with, he starts, taking refuge in secrecy and vague terms — no name, no identifying information, but in sending that first message he's already spilled too much. There is no need to keep everything so desperately hidden. So he begins anew.]

Doppio, under most circumstances, sleeps during the night, and he is the one who is around me most. This past month has been a wonderful reprieve from the loneliness, but I am sure the quiet nights will start again soon. On them I am usually left to my own devices, with only my thoughts and a pet I acquired under unusual circumstances for company.

Doppio, for the record, is the one who gave me your address. His impression of you seems favorable, and I trust his judgment.

I will say that when your life is on the line, flesh becomes far more palatable. If you are unused to meat, it may be difficult to stomach at first. I have no issues with it, but still, consuming souls is vastly preferable. There is less mess, and there is room to share what's left.

Consuming a soul does not obliterate it. All the souls I have consumed give me strength to this day. You are not destroying their peace — no, you are giving peace to them. You are their afterlife. Every moment you live to your fullest is, in a sense, shared with them.

[That's how he imagines it, anyway. As for Steven's last question — well, he's already answered.]

[So this Naphil is that close to Doppio, are they? Now Steven's left wondering how Cervo factors into all that, but it'd be rude to ask. It's weirdly comforting, at least, that Doppio has someone by his despite the complexities that Cervo would offer.]

My impression of Doppio is pretty favorable too! I haven't talked to him all that much, but he seems nice. I'm glad that you have someone like him, and the other way round. But yeah, it is a pain when your company needs to sleep and you need to stay awake in the light, so you can't even really let them doze in peace.

Truth be told, I'm sure my stomach's dealt with plenty of meat over the years. At least up until I got to Ryslig. And I had a (normal cow beef) steak once, just ordered one in a restaurant because I lost the will to care. It stayed down fine that time. If it were human, it'd hit real different though. I'd have to get hungry to point of losing myself, I think.

Souls is better, but also worse in a way? No easy soup kitchen alternative, for one. I have to pick a target and watch the life disappear from their eyes myself. And I'm not sure I want to be responsible for someone's afterlife.

['I'm not good enough to be someone's afterlife' is what he wants to say, but he stops himself from typing it out.]

I'm not around here forever either, am I? What happens when I vanish from this place? Maybe I'm overthinking it, but this is someone's immortal existence we're chatting about.

[Ah, Cervo. If his name was mentioned, this conversation would quickly turn from small talk to pointed interrogation. What the deer gets up to when he is out of Diavolo's sight is ultimately not his business, but it is increasingly concerning how many others know of his existence.

Steven's responses catch Diavolo off guard every time, leaving him blinking at the screen before settling in to respond. There are a few fundamental truths he believes in. He's been around other monsters just enough to catch onto the faintest patterns. Demons are meddling and irksome; harpies have tended to be noisy. His sample size is small, as insular as he is, but it's just enough to make him curious. If each person here is, upon arrival, shaped into a form that suits them ... then where do the similarities between himself and Steven lie? There must be something. This requires further probing.

If he could see Steven for himself ...]

Forgive me if this is sudden, but I believe it would be easier to continue this conversation face-to-face. [A lie; he is most at ease with the screen to act as a barrier between them. But there is no way to size Steven up from afar, to assess his mannerisms and his words in the heat of the moment. He could have Doppio act as a go-between, but ... hasn't he been trying to get out more? Was that not the point of the exhausting festive ordeals he went through in the weeks before? He did not spend a day baking only to cower at the thought of leaving the house. No. He is far better, far stronger than he was a year before.] If you accept, you may choose the location.

[Now Steven's the one left staring at his screen. The suggestion is sudden, sure, but also short. Has he said something wrong, or is it really easier to keep talking about this in person? It feels like it'd be harder, when he doesn't have as much time to think about what he's saying before sending the words out into the world.

But then, talking in person about heavier topics with people like Norman and Atem had gone well enough. It'll be fine, he supposes.]

Sure, I accept! When do you want to meet? Today?

I'm not sure about location. If you're more of a solitary person, a public place isn't your thing, right? Maybe my flat would be better, then.

[No. No, that's far too personal. Public places are a nuisance, but they do have one advantage. He will not wander into a meeting unprepared — he will have Doppio keep watch from afar in case things go south. One can easily explain the occasional flash of pink in the distance as mere coincidence. An apartment would be too isolated, too hard to keep an eye on. If something happens, if words turn to blows ... there would be no easy escape.

He's thinking too much, preparing for potentials have may never happen. Not being able to foresee the future is a nightmare. He presses on:]

Today will work. I think somewhere public would be most suitable for a first meeting. There are a number of cafes around Bavan, and some of them serve edible food, if you have no ideas of your own.

[... Huh. Steven hadn't thought this person would prefer a cafe over somewhere calm and quiet, but he's not going to argue. It makes no difference to him either way.]

I know one. It's closer to Bavan's outskirts, but it's one of the few that has proper vegan stuff on the menu. You don't want to know how many others still try to slip cheese, fish or eggs into a salad.

[So when Steven says this is one of the few cafes that has vegan stuff on the menu, what he actually means is that they listen when he tells them he wants a salad with just the greens and nothing else. Being vegan in a world that doesn't really know what veganism is is a huge hassle.

Anyway, [insert handwaved cafe address here]!]

I will meet you there, then.

[The place is set, and then a time. Before long, Diavolo finds himself awkwardly curled up on a cafe chair several minutes early, one hand pressed against his cheek as he leans over his table. He stares at the door in silent apprehension as he sips from a too-small cup of coffee. He doesn't need it by any means, but the taste distracts him from the regret and nerves.

The description of Steven he was given is adequate enough to be certain of his identity whenever he walks in. Around Doppio's size, and otherwise fairly unremarkable. The presence of halo and wings is enough to confirm it. He doesn't raise a hand in greeting or say a word; he just watches and waits. Steven, was given no description at all — but Diavolo stands out distinctly enough in a crowd.]

[Indeed, Steven has no real idea who he's meeting with beyond 'Naphil'. Considering how rare they are, though, the chances of running into someone else who fits that description at the cafe are just about zero. Others might have reservations about meeting with someone whose name they don't even know, but Steven doesn't think twice about it. Just because he likes to avoid confrontation doesn't mean he'll avoid potentially-unpleasant people.

This is why he's the 'stupid one' to some.

He comes up to the cafe with a bit of a jog, the part of his face below his nose hidden beneath a blue scarf. Unlike most Nephilim, he doesn't have horns and his extra pair of eyes is mostly hidden beneath locks of curly hair, but there's still no mistaking that halo. His wings are smaller and more colorful than those one might expect from an angelic being, but they're wings all the same. His tail is more difficult to spot, the bushy tip only just poking out beneath his jacket. (He doesn't like having it go through the jacket, it feels weird and pins the jacket to his body too much.)

He walks through the door and his gaze falls on the person he's meeting with pretty much immediately. Diavolo may not be as huge or bright as Cervo, but he's still a sight. Steven stands frozen in the doorway, ethereal glow flickering into existence in his eyes for a few seconds before subsiding again. When he approaches the table, it's with almost humbled awe.]

Ah- Hi! Wow, you... [He has to actively stop himself from calling this person huge; Cervo hadn't liked that either.] You're a Naphil, alright.

I am. Steven, correct? Sit.

[Diavolo gestures to the empty chair. It's a table for two, and Steven will certainly have an easier time settling in at it than Diavolo did. Even now, as comfortable as he can possibly be, he's nearly comically large compared to everything else in the building. But at least he doesn't have it as bad as Cervo. More comparisons between the two can be easily drawn — their size, yes, but also their intense looks (though Cervo's were nigh-indistinguishable in the glow of his halo), their overabundance of pink. It's in Diavolo's hair, in his feathers, and in the cozy coat draped over the back of his own chair.

He takes one more sip of coffee, staring quietly at Steven as he does. He did not think this entirely through. Where does one begin in a conversation like this?]

[Steven sits before he's even realized he was moving. When someone so huge and intense tells him to do something, he does it. The abundance of pink is noted, but... Well. Some folks just really love pink and that's cool. Steven's more of an aquamarine person, himself.

Once he's fully startled himself out of his initial stupor, he quickly holds out a hand across the table.]

I'm Steven, yeah. And you are? [Please do not leave him hanging, please do not leave him hanging, please-]

[Eight months. It has been eight months since the tangle of thorny vines and the threat of looming death forced Diavolo into giving his name away for the first time. Eight months, and yet it hasn't gotten any easier. Steven's question is enough to make Diavolo tense up. His eyes stay fixed on the other, his expression cold and unreadable as he lowers his cup to the table with a clunk.

There's so much he wants to spit back in response. Diavolo's name is not his to know, how dare he, honestly — but he swallows all the words that threaten to spill out. After all, there's probably no harm meant. Plenty of people know him by name already — one more is no great risk to him. Really, after the debacle on the network days before — it's likely even those who don't know him know his name. Those who know may not be able to put a face to it, or any other details, but ... it's out there, forever. Years of secrecy, all eroded away.

This one piece of knowledge can't be used to hurt him — not anymore. So, eventually, he answers.]

Diavolo.

[He sees the hand offered to him and tries not to let his gut reaction show on his face. No, in fact, just to prove how truly earnest he is in his attempts to socialize today — slowly, hesitantly, he reaches out.]

[However long that silence actually lasted, it just seems to stretch on into eternity for Steven. He's gotten much better at socializing over the past half year, but occasionally he still becomes aware of how awkward he is and it makes him nervous. Has he done something wrong? Already? He's only just sat down-

But then, at last, a name comes out into the open. The Italian word for "devil"? And he's a Naphil? Steven's first instinct is to comment on the irony, but something else beats it back down. It's the memory of a different enormous, pink-haired Naphil snapping at him for 'always chattering'. So he fights the urge to spout that light-hearted remark and instead resolves himself to not say things that could ruffle feathers.

His gaze shoots down towards the slow, almost cautious hand coming his way. He waits for it to get close enough, then closes the distance entirely to take it with his own. His grasp is firmer than one might expect from a meek guy like him, but probably still nothing compared to whatever the norm is in Jojo Land.]

Well, it's good to meet you, Diavolo. It really is nice to have a proper chat with another Naphil.

[Only a few comment on his name. Perhaps it's the Italian, that little detail of its meaning lost in translation; perhaps it's the nature of some of the people who arrive here. Most monsters were once humans — but when some were hedgehogs or robots or princes of hell, who would question the presence of a "devil"? Ah, but it's only a name, a fact Diavolo has had to explain before to a demon who seemed intrigued by the prospect. He keeps eyes on Steven, looking for a reaction, internally preparing some speech in response — and he thinks he sees something. The flash of recognition, something bordering on amusement — and then it ebbs away, Steven's expression dulling into something else entirely.

Curious.

But he can't complain. The touch to his hand is firm and brief and as soon as Diavolo has room to pull away, he does. He resists the urge to wipe his hand; the lingering feeling is deeply unpleasant but there is nothing to scour away. The touch wasn't laced with poison, there was no electric jolt, nothing. It was ... just a handshake. A standard — if ridiculous — ritual. No harm meant. All is fine.]

And it is nice to meet you. [To see with his own eyes what threat this other poses — and what they may have in common.] Where were we?

[Truthfully, the fact that Diavolo draws his hand back as soon as possible comes as a relief to Steven. He's perfectly fine with touching people he's more familiar with, but when it comes to a first impression, he becomes overly aware of what he's doing. What if his hand's too clammy? Or his grip too weak? Nah, best to get the handshake over with and then quickly retreat back into his chair, hoping that was a job well done.

The question causes his brow to furrow lightly, as his memory backtracks towards the conversation they had on the network.]

We... were chatting about meat versus souls, and what happens to those souls once devoured. I dunno, is that... something you wanted to keep discussing?

[He's fine with dropping the topic, because he's not sure a true answer could be reached either way, but if Diavolo wants to keep waxing philosophical about it, he's fine with that too.]

Yes... And, as I recall, you have reservations on the subject. Something about feeding distresses you. [There's a note of something in Diavolo's voice as he says it. Sympathy? Pity? Concern?]

Tell me — how often do you need to consume souls to thrive?

[A waitress, here to ask the new arrival what he'd like to have, stills at the bluntness of the question. Diavolo pays her no mind.]

[Steven would think it's obvious what the 'something' is that distresses him. It's murder, no matter how one slices it. He tries to share his 'prey' with Quentin, so at least the amount of death is halved to some degree, but death is death.

He sees the waitress approach from the corner of his eye (and from behind the shroud of curly hair half-covering the eye on his temple), but the question jars him a little as well. There's a few seconds of pause before he turns his attention to the waitress entirely, telling her "Coffee- the usual, please. Thanks so much" and allowing her to quickly go on her way. Once she's striding away again, he folds his hands on the table's surface, shoulders hunching.]

It's... about once a month, usually. Or a bit more often. Once every four weeks...? Feels like that's enough.

Hm. I take six weeks between larger hunts, aligned with every third fog. This, for me, is a matter of preference. [He hunts with Cervo, but this is a secret he does not trust Steven with. Word of that must not make it back to Doppio's ears; however unlikely it is, he does not want to risk it.] I will take the occasional soul or two in between hunts for maintenance. [Diavolo raps his fingers against the table, deep in thought.]

Could it be that you are not consuming enough? That may be why the act bothers you so. You are simply ... unused to how it feels. To what it means to take a soul and make it yours.

[Six weeks between hunts sounds impressive to Steven, but the 'occasional soul or two in between' means Diavolo is actually consuming more than him. Not every monster needs to feed as often as others though, he knows that. And maybe Diavolo being bigger than him factors into that too. Who knows?]

I am unused to it. It feels funny and... wrong. But I dunno if feeding more often would fix that. I'd rather just keep feeling bad about it if it means less people die. And I know for sure I haven't gone too hungry in a long while. That's a- a whole other thing.

[A tilt of the head.]

You are concerned with how many you kill. Admirable. I, too, avoid death in excess. It is wasteful and wholly unnecessary. When I spent time as a carnivorous monster, I fell into the trap of enjoying the hunt. The thrill was not in victory nor in the rewards I reaped from it — it was in the bite, the blood, the moment of death. I would find myself killing more than I could eat.

[He shakes his head then, and adjusts the hair that resultingly falls in his face. It's grown so long ... he's overdue for a haircut.]

It was ... entirely unlike me. Killing another is a means to an end, not a goal in itself. But you can do it mercifully, Steven. There is nothing to feel bad about.

[No, Diavolo cannot relate — but he's seen enough posts on the network, the words of people distressed by their new monsterhood to know that it is not an uncommon feeling. The two, as Nephilim, are not similar at all in this respect. It only serves to make Diavolo curious about what they do have in common.]

[He feels bad about it- Of course he feels bad about it. Even if it's done mercifully, even if the target was ready to embrace death, it's just not right. Maybe the Naphil's inherent thirst for justice is clashing with the injustice of murder without due trial, but most likely, it's just Steven's own inherent pacifism. Even so, being told by a fellow Naphil- especially one with such a grand presence- that he has nothing to feel bad about... It helps.

His hunched posture eases up a bit more, but his hands remain folded on the table, tips of his index fingers idly tapping together.]

I... Yeah, thanks. I reckon, all things considered, this was probably the best form for me. If I had to go out and hunt for something like meat, like a vicious animal, I wouldn't really be myself anymore.

[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.

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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(gently shuts laptop) (listen i wanted diavolo to meet a neph in person.)

(very understandable tbh)

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normal behavior

Just two guys having a normal conversation

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