hadriel_logs | closed;

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Who: Rosie, Carlisle
What: Rosie tries to harass Carlisle into friendship again.
Where: Carlisle's place, his garden specifically
When: your guess is as good as mine broseph though sometime after the Null invasion but not like too late just the right amount of time after
Warnings: Possibly some discussion of heavy topics!

There's a lot to take in with their change of scenery. Like many, Rose has been exploring this newfound world. While she doesn't like the arid climate, she finds it a bit fascinating. It reminds her of the deserts of Arizona, of such a foreign-seeming place in the United States. Japan didn't have any natural deserts. Compared to her home country's greenery, it seemed very... beige.

Perhaps that's why it's Carlisle's garden that stands out. Not that she knows it's his or that this is even where he lives. She wasn't trying to find him or anything after their last conversation went sour. In fact, it was actually the opposite. Rose had been steadfastly ignoring him since and letting him have the space he so requested. That was a thing she was trying to do now more than before: respect people's wishes.

"Woah, how are they keeping this place alive? These things should be keeling over by now..." the blond muses as she peers into the place. In normal circumstances, they would be wilting just as Rose feels like doing. But these aren't normal circumstances, aren't they?

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"A- a world without... nature?"

He asks that question more as a distraction from his own predicament than anything, but he can't deny his curiosity. Despite his subsiding panic, he remains where he stands, his fingers pressed to his eye beneath his glasses, the other trained on Rose as though he's still waiting for her to turn on him.

"Yeah. In Haven, nothing grew. The soil was toxic. Anything we tried to plant just withered away and died." Radiation was the cause, she thinks. If Haven East was any indication at least. They'd never quite pieced together what had happened to that city, in the end... Nothing's pretty, Rose is positive of that, but so much of it and why they were there was shrouded in mystery.

"Ah."

As someone who often turns to his garden for comfort, the thought of a world without any touch of nature sounds... just terrible, really. A bit like the colorless Land Beyond Living he'll eventually be damned to. Perhaps that's why it unsettles him so, far more than Rosie's presence and the ink still trailing down his jaw, tracing the curves of his neck like a dark, black river.

He clears his throat, his good eye turning from her, and tries again.

"I... believe I am okay now."

For someone who's part animal and practically an inherent part of nature, Rose had never realized how much her life lacked until it was gone. That's why the orchard here bring her solace. It's why this man's garden had enticed her towards it.

The blond glances at that ink winding down his skin; a stark, startling contrast against it but she's trying not to be rude and stare. It's clearly not anything he really wants to talk about and she isn't about to pry.

"You sure, dude? I don't mind like... helping clean up or whatever. Not like I got anything to do or anywhere to be."

Her offer is met with silence at first, as well as a flash of uncertainty that crosses his face. He should be kinder to her, he chastises himself, or at least tolerable, especially when she seemed to express some concern for him, despite their last conversation. Carlisle pushes himself off the wall, wiping at his chin with his arm -- the bandage there is already stained from previous times like these, the patches of black faded, but still evident through the layers.

He doesn't normally invite people into his private abode, but what circumstances can a man hacking up ink consider 'normal'? "This way," he says, meandering past her and around the corner, toward the door. "I'm sorry, I don't- I don't quite recall your name."

Or he never got it with all the snitty remarks he sent her way. Whichever.

He doesn't have to be. Rose doesn't deserve any kind of kindness after some of the shit she's pulled and isn't about to kid herself into thinking that she might. She's hurt people before, people who didn't deserve it. But she was a monster then and refuses to be now.

If this is a frequent occurence, it might be better to have people around that can help him through it than those that might take advantage of his state. "That's alright, dude. I'm pretty low-key." Haha. Ha. What a joke. "My name's Rose. Nice to officially meet. Well. Despite the circumstances."

When compared to Carlisle, Rose is definitely low-key; he gives her an apologetic look as he pushes the door to his cottage open, stepping aside to allow her access. "Yes, despite the circumstances indeed."

Though small, the shed-turned-house is fairly cozy: there's one wall dedicated to gardening implements, complete with shelves and a worktable, while the rest of the interior is clearly a living space of sorts. There's a small sitting table, a bed, a couple of chairs, even a trunk in which he can keep a few things. Though he has another sweater in there, he'll be damned if he's undressing in front of a near stranger, ink all over him or not.

What he retrieves instead is a dark towel and a pail, setting them beside one of the chairs. He hesitates to take a seat, motioning for Rosie to take one first. He might be panic-stricken, peevish, and often sickly, but he remembers his manners for the moment, taking the time to conjure a palm-sized orb of water, dropping it into the bucket as he starts on another. Looks like irrigation really isn't much of a problem for him.

"Was it your home that didn't have nature? Or were you elsewhere before being brought to this place?"

... That's fair. "There are worse ways to meet, I'm sure." In fact, she's experienced quite a few throughout her time here and Haven. Not that she's overly keen to share any of those unfortunate incidents.

Instead, her attention is diverted to this quaint little place. A lot of work and care has gone into it. Almost too much. It can get a little... bleak, honestly, seeing how lived in some spaces are. How long people have been here. In Haven, they'd never had much in the way of personal artifacts but she still remembers the veterans touches to their spaces too. Having been a nomad before, she was very proficient at minimizing and didn't hold much sentiment for objects beyond her guitar. If anyone were to look into her room at Alphy's, they'd wonder if anyone lived there at all.

"Elsewhere," she answers, plopping down in the offered chair. "A place called Haven. That's kind of the joke, I suppose. Some haven it was."

"A cruel irony."

Carlisle slides into the other chair, conjuring another couple of orbs of water and dropping them into the pail, filling it enough that he can wash his face. He sets the towel into his lap and, after a few seconds of hesitation, pulls off his glasses and tucks them away. He's never very fond of parting from them, if his earlier panic was any indication.

"You can say that again. Compared to Haven, Hadriel is tame."

Rose watches him work quietly but curiously. It's not like magic she's seen before. Feldspar was more of an alchemist than a true spellcaster though. He enjoyed brewing and bubbling potions, adding magical effects. Glamours were his specialty. Though she was still sore sometimes about him turning her tongue blue for weeks by accident.

It's hard to think about Feldspar. Misto. Reyson. It's been three years since she's seen them... and it'll be an eternity without them. "That's pretty neat," she finally comments. "The water thing. Can you only do water or-?"

"Hm?" Carlisle glances Rosie's way as he pulls his face from the towel, having taken a moment while she was talking to attempt to clean his face -- there is still some ink clinging to the creases around his mouth, but that will have to do. His eyes flick back to the pail before him, the water a swirling, darkened abyss. "Oh, oh no. Minor conjuration can be utilized for a number of everyday purposes, though..."

He trails off for just a moment, sighing as he looks at what little of his reflection he can see in the inky liquid. Using his fingers to brush back loose, damp strands of hair, he slides his glasses back into place. "I would have thought that in a place where we all come from different worlds, I would have run across more magical sorts, but most people seem to be... fairly mundane, as though my world and all the magic within it is the oddity."

This seems almost routine for him. Like he's used to just... bleeding ink like that. Rose wonders if it's a byproduct of his conjuring. And if so, why does he still do it? Maybe stopping will have worse repercussions? It's all speculation, of course, and maybe she's wrong. She could just ask but- She doesn't want to pry or make him more uncomfortable. Which might be a funny thought from Rose, of all people, who didn't seem too concerned with people's comfort during her shipping chart.

"My kind don't exist in a lot of worlds," she admits. It's not actually anything disconcerting for Rose. She holds no love for her own people. Most of them, anyway. She thinks the more worlds out there in the multiverse where they don't exist, the better.

"But we have magic."

It's not that they have magic, but what else Rose says that certainly gets Carlisle's attention. He folds the towel slowly, his eyes on her as he tries to discern just what it is she meant.

"Your kind?" She looks human enough, but to be fair, so does he -- and looks can be terribly deceiving, can't they?

"My kind," she says again and in what will seem to be the blink of an eye she's changed. Hair of snow white instead of gold cascades past her shoulders. The ears on the side of her head have disappeared, replaced by tall white wolfish ones atop her skull. A tail of the same color now curls behind her where she sits and dusts the ground lightly. Eyes of amber stare Carlisle down, her now amused smile a lot more toothy than previously.

My, what big teeth she has. Fangs, really, but- Details.

"Yokai. It translates to demon but... It's a bit more complicated than that."

The transformation is more than startling: it spooks Carlisle so badly that he jumps in his chair, nearly sending the pail at his feet toppling over. He seems to judge saving his cottage floor as important as saving himself, and so he leans forward and catches it, his eyes never leaving the strange being before him. It's not the ears nor the hair that have his full attention, but those teeth so sharp and frightening.

"Oh. Oh, ah. Th- that is, um. That is s-s-something, isn't it?"

That nervous sort of smile pulls at the corner of his mouth again, clearly a reaction more than a truthful expression. With the bucket steady -- as steady as it can be in his shaking hands -- he leans back into his chair once more, as far as it will let him... and then further still as he scoots the entire seat back an inch or two. The last time he came face to face with a demon didn't end well at all.

"H- how is it m- more complicated? If that- if that isn't rude to ask?"

Please don't be rude to ask.

It's been a while since someone reacted the way humans back home would. Rose had actually thought after Haven and Hadriel and the absolute lack of surprise that maybe it was just the mortals of her world. Maybe she wasn't as terrifying as she'd always been led to believe, but- No. He's right to be afraid. She's exactly the monster she never wanted to be.

But his fear kills any potential appetite she might have had. She doesn't like her prey to be frightened; she likes it when they have some fight. He doesn't have to worry about his question being rude to ask, his reaction was well enough.

"We're made of ki, life energy. But ours is tainted by negative human emotions and that's what makes us demons. My kind, the okuri inu, are born of people's fear of walking alone in mountain passes at night. We jump out and eat them if they trip. I mean. They do. That wasn't really my thing."

"O- oh." Carlisle continues to jitter his chair, but at least the part where eating people isn't 'her thing' is a relief, if true. Would she lie to him? She is a demon, and demons are known for their trickery, their inclination toward deception.

... Of course, that'd demons from his world. How are they in hers? Those he knows of certainly aren't created from this 'ki' material when a fearful individual travels alone through a mountain pass; if they were, Carlisle would have been devoured long, long ago in his mountain home. There is nothing about him that screams heart of a lion, despite his proud lineage.

"F- funny how different things c- can be from world to w- world, isn't it?" he asks, what levity there is to be found in his tone purely there is a failed attempt to soothe his own nerves. "Life e- energy as we utilize it is called ek-ek-eksth'alva, and is not at all how a demon would come to be. I- I mean, perhaps? Some demons, but- but not most. Interesting."

His fingers curl into the arms of the chair as he physically tries to hold himself still. Though he manages it, his mouth keeps running, as though more words would explain away his fears. "Sorry, I- last time I was faced with a demon was- it was here, and it was not a- not a good time, mind you. Terrible, really. Possessions and- you can't do those, can you? Possessions?"

She would, actually. It wasn't her thing... and then a man by the name of Phillip Kite made it so that it was. He doesn't need to know that though. Besides this, most her lies are just that of omission. There's a lot that Rose doesn't say. And is that really lying? What people didn't know (usually) didn't hurt them.

"Yeah, it's pretty fascinating." His discomfort is obvious but maybe it's for that reason she doesn't shift back. Exposure therapy. That kind of idea, anyway. Maybe the longer he sees her with her fangs and how she isn't doing anything with them the more convinced he'll be that she doesn't actually have any intent to harm.

"Not my kind. But some of us can. Usually the lesser ones. They possess people to do their bidding, keep that negative energy flowing." Without it, yokai wouldn't exist so there's... a reason for it. Rose doesn't like it, or what she is, but can't deny it's a necessity. "I remember the demons, but- Our kind aren't all evil. We can be benevolent too. Like there's guardian wolves."

Unfortunately, Rose's exposure therapy just seems to be unnerving Carlisle more and more; his eyes fall to a spot on the floor, his brow knotting tightly as he grinds his teeth behind his lips. He has dealt with the exorcism of demons before, but being face-to-face with one -- especially one so close, and so soon after what happened to Emily -- just riles his inward terror.

"G- guardian wolves?" he asks, still searching for distractions. "Are they- are they wild gods of some sort?"

He'll have to get unwound in the same clothes he got upset in because she's not changing. It's not often Rose even shows people this side; it's usually taken as a very big sign of trust. Considering Carlisle didn't attack her outright, she doesn't think she made the wrong decision. She can deal with nervous fear. It's aggressive fear that she has a hard time swallowing. People who act without even giving her a chance, without letting her show them she's not just a demon.

"The Ôkami aren't gods, but they're... up there. Similar to the dragons. They're like a tier below the actual deities, they work directly under them. Ôkami are herald to the Yama no Kami, the mountain deity."

"A- ah. So... lesser deities."

Carlisle continues to try to relate what she's saying to things he knows, things that are familiar, and comfortably so, but all he can think about is his former student turning to him, her eyes no longer her own, body twisted with the onset of full possession—

"Please change back."

His eyes still aren't on Rose, as though keeping her on his periphery would somehow help quell his fear. Usually, he would try to keep an eye on something that so threatened him, but she doesn't seem interested in hurting him or toying with him, as the demons he knows of would tend to do. She is less of a danger to him than his own paranoia, and he knows it, so that's what he fights to curb first.

"Yeah, kind of like that." Rose is hard-pressed to call either of them truly deities but- It's fine. He can think of them how he wants. They're not so picky about labels. Well. The dragons, maybe, but they're a bunch of conceited assholes Rose doesn't about.

He says please. She almost doesn't. But while they might have their disagreements, she's not malicious. Or at least she doesn't try to be. With a sigh, the woman focuses. It takes a little longer than the change back because the spell requires concentration to maintain and dropping it is the opposite. It's a lot harder to think about something intensely than to not, so. After a moment though, she's back to the blond woman that most of the residents of Hadriel are familiar with.

"I'm not like them," she says. "Not the ones that were here." Not anymore. She refuses to be.

Throughout Rose's shift, and even for several moments afterward, Carlisle keeps his eyes lodged on the floor, as though the hole he's digging there with his gaze would protect him from his own trepidation. When it doesn't work, he goes for words instead, his usual distraction.

"It's not you," he utters as a reassurance to them both. "I know it isn't, but- but I had someone killed by one of them, and—"

And he hasn't really gotten over it.

Rose can fill in the same blank, honestly. While she hadn't lost anyone to the demons then, she remembers how ugly. How bloody and awful their infestation was. Her own kind liked to tear the flesh from people's bones and she has too so she understands just how horrible demons can be. Whether they be the kind that plagued Hadriel or her own kind. She knows his fear isn't founded in something irrational.

"It's not fine, but. I get it. We all got shit that we're afraid of, even if it might be... Well, not unfounded. I mean, we usually fear the worst things that have already happened to us repeating so. Your fear is demons. Mine? Water." That might seem anticlimatic, so she clarifies: "Well, drowning. But I mentally flip out if I get too close to a body of water I can possibly drown in. So I'm not having a good time with these pools and I know it's not exactly the same, but."

There's something in what Rose says -- her fear in particular, upon clarification -- that draws Carlisle's attention. His eyes flick to her, and while they are still laced with fear, there is also quiet bewilderment, then sympathy.

"Oh." She looks human enough, is a demon beneath the skin, but despite all that, she has... such simple fear, one he's faced many times himself. Most of those occasions were when he stood at the edge of the Cottonmouth so long ago in Bear Den, wondering if the riverbed held solace that the world could no longer provide. His family was gone, his lineage broken, his reputation as tattered as the remnants of his soul. What reason was there to look elsewhere?

He'd kept finding reasons, and still does. Perhaps she does, as well -- maybe they have more in common than he initially believed.

"I fear many things," he admits quietly. "Demons, yes. Drowning as well. The dark and deep shadows and what whispers lie there. Bears. The end of all things and what lies beyond it, but—"

He pauses for just a moment, his hands wringing together. His greatest fear is up for debate, as is whether or not he should divulge such things to near strangers, but it does seem right to do so. She did oblige his request. "But loss is, perhaps, the worst of them."

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cw: suicidal ideation