Voluntary Visitation

Appreciate? The single word belittled all that the man had said, all that the man had so heartily confessed. He had let the vampire drink up his story, and now, it wasn't enough? He was showing trust-- he had shown trust, Richard even said as much-- and, for what? NOTHING. He should have seen through the vampire, should have known that nothing would ever be enough. It was so ignorant of him to think otherwise.

The vampire's last statement, though, was what truly shook him.
"No," he breathed, his smile all but fading. "No, I am not implying that at all."

He didn't want the darling to know any of what was discussed: not his newfound humanity, or his snooping, or his . . . previous endeavors. For him to find out any such things would be simply the worst thing possible. He simply couldn't allow it.

The boy's reaction will be entertaining enough, Laughter broke in despite the promised silence. They WILL tell him.

Then, you'll just have to make sure that They don't, the former deity promptly replied with a gaze upwards. He then returned his eyes to the vampire, taking in a deep breath. Already he had had a breakdown. Not again.

". . . I trusted you because you implied that's what it took for you to inform me about Ambrose," Vernal stated clearly, taking a small sip of leftover rum all the while. "You do realize that me being in the know is the best thing for him: I can still help him, with what few contacts I have left."

'Contact,' Laughter could not help but correct. Singular.

A slight, knowing smile came upon him. Oh, this was going just too perfectly. The ability to lead a conversation exactly the way he wanted it to was so much more satisfying to use than any of the supernatural powers that he had possessed; they always had felt somewhat tacked on. Sure, he worked hard to gain those too, and paid a steep price for them, but it simply wasn't the same as something that came from him and his mind only. If only more people understood that...

And sure, while he wouldn't use either kind of power for evil, certainly the pleasure he drew from the look on Disaster's face was anything but? He was doing it for the greater good, and his enjoyment was merely a side-effect. His intentions were still good.

Richard spoke, calmly but with a tone of surprise, as if he hadn't expected he'd have to raise a point this obvious. "Well, what if he comes to me stating that he would be able to help you if he knew?" He gave the man a questioning look and paused, hesitating a second. Certainly, he was aware from what glimpses he had seen that it was a rather unlikely outcome. Ambrose seemed to treat Disaster as some sort of an necessary evil, the best thing only because he was the only thing he could have. While Disaster...

"What does Ambrose mean to you?"

That first question . . . The former deity simply didn't know what to do with it. Yes, Ambrose might know what to do to help him, but whether or not he would help was an entirely different matter. To the darling, humanity was the greatest gift of all, worth just second to the material treasures of the world. To the darling . . . But, he would understand, wouldn't he? The darling would understand it was different to him than it was to, well, him. He simply had to understand. And, yet, he knew the darling could be quite steadfast in his ways and thinking.

The man couldn't answer the first question, his silence his only response. He could, however, answer the second, and answer he did, the thought of Ambrose sending a somewhat solemn grin onto his face and replacing his formerly despondent expression.

"Everything."
If there was one thing he was sure of in this world of Them and various tragedies, if there was but one thing he could always grab onto and depend upon, he was it. The darling changed his world, shaped his world, and, inevitably, was his world. There was surely a time before Ambrose, but such moments didn't matter. The darling was when he truly began living.

Before Richard could ask-- before he could stop himself otherwise and think about Their ears, as well-- the man's sad smile grew slightly, a pleasant sigh aching through him.

"I love him."
With all his being.

Ah, so Disaster could not find a reply to that. Shame. It would surely have been interesting. When the other answer came, though, Richard raised his eyebrows slightly and froze.

Oh, no, that was awful. He couldn't let himself do that. It would be horrible, cold and heartless, definitely going too far. And yet, he couldn't help it, and a weird snort escaped him as he clamped his hand over his mouth in a last-resort attempt to muffle it. Richard could only hope that the man would think that it was a noise of surprise rather than what it really was.

A snicker.

Glancing away to avoid Disaster's gaze, he stood up, figuring that collecting the glasses to refill them would buy him some time to recollect himself. He took his own off the table and walked up to the couch his guest was occupying, standing beside it as he held out his hand expectantly. The man was handling the alcohol well, he thought, even considering that the sincerity could have something to do with the drink.

For all of his amusement, he kept an impressively straight face on, and if anything, when he spoke his tone was a bit too flat.

"Right." he said. "And what do you intend to do about that?"

The snicker might had gone unnoticed with Vernal's thoughts of Ambrose-- except that another snickered with him, reluctantly and yet in-sync. There was an immediate apology for such involuntary action.

Disaster, I am SO sorry, but--
I know, was the curt reply, Vernal's smile fading as soon as the vampire's back was turned. There was no point in wearing it when his main audience member wasn't looking. That's right: he needed to think like a human to deal with an immortal. Focus on one audience member at a time. Besides, They were usually too high up There to notice such a change in facial expressions.

. . . Vernal?

Realization hit him all at once, and the smile returned as if it had never faded. Focus only on the vamp. If he thought about Them, too, then he would surely loose more at this mind game. He had ground to gain-- and, gain he would.
Think like a human. Think like a mortal. It was what Richard would never expect . . .

". . . Protect him, of course," the mere man respond cheerily. "Just as I have been doing." Attempting. He needed to change the subject-- "It's more than what SHE'S doing, at least."
Not that subject.

The sudden glee in his voice was rather disconcerting - but it seemed that Richard's snicker had gone without comment, whether deliberately, or due to not noticing. That much was a relief. Perhaps Disaster simply went that mawkish at the mere mention of Ambrose. Hah...

"Ah. Of course." he said in a tone so smoothly affirmative, it implied all of his incredulousness without being directly impolite. After a second more of waiting, he tutted and reached to simply take the glass from the man's hand, then turned to approach his desk again.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, disturbed only by the clinking of glass and the sound of liquids being poured as he prepared both another round of drinks and himself, mentally, to try and not commit another stupid blunder. The first came automatically, and the latter should too; but unfortunately, the counselor found his patience wearing thin. One of the few times that that had happened. There was not one thing in particular about Disaster that he found so grating - any of his annoying traits would be perfectly tolerable on its own - however, combined into one entity, they were rather... trying, indeed.

Still. He had to do his best.

He approached the ex-deity again and stood by his side, offering him his glass, refilled with a fresh portion of brandy with cola as he took a sip out of his own.

"The lady with his diatoma." he stated more than asked as a prompt for Disaster to elaborate however he saw it fit.

The wait was annoying. The fallen deity took to tapping his foot in the pause, stopping only when the drinks were poured. Excellent! And yet, he took the offered brandy with chagrin. If Ambrose always made him happy, then SHE had the opposite effect. In every way possible.

"Her name is Metis," the man grumbled, looking down into his glass and wondering whether this would be enough for the current conversation. He brought it upon himself, and yet . . . Vernal down the drink has he had in the beginning: in a single swing. Satisfied, he continued:
"And, she is as useless as can be. COMPLETELY useless. I mean, all she can do--" A slight chuckle escaped him without warning. The man attempted to shrug it off; he had to remain composed in front of the vamp! "Sorry about that-- all she can do is make things normal. It's a ridiculous ability that's only really useful for one person and one person only. Of course, that person HAD to be Ambrose."

Another giggle escaped him. Was this hysteria? He wasn't happy in the slightest, and yet it was the most natural of sounds He laughed a little more before pressing on.

"It's ridiculous . . . There's even a stupid prophecy about them. Different 'them,'" he helpfully put in. "Of course, We're All-- They're All," he grudgingly corrected before a voice could pip in, "in it. The prophecy, I mean. But now, I've said too much."

He shouldn't have begun talking like that. But the dread failed to come.
"More brandy?" He held the glass towards the vampire expectantly.

Metis. Richard tilted his head slightly, commiting it to memory, and before he could even think of taking a step in the direction of his seat, the glass was empty again. With only the slightest of sighs, he remained where he was, waiting for an opportune moment to take the glass as he listened silently.

The awkward laughter was disregarded, of course; he wouldn't bring attention to anything unpleasant anymore. He didn't have to particularly struggle with the temptation to poke fun at the man, though, because what he had said was much more interesting. 'Make things normal'? What was that supposed to mean...? And how would it only be of use to Ambrose? Certainly, he wasn't the only one who longed for things to be normal.

It was true, back then, he had been eager to find out about Them. However, the longer he stayed at the Academy, the more certain he was in that he didn't care for all that supernatural business. The magical flavoring to the stories he had heard there was exactly just that - flavoring. At their core, all creatures were similar, it seemed. Even when a story involved deities, prophecies, curses and all sorts of other lunacy, the centerpiece were still the emotions - human emotions. Unrequited affection, jealousy, desperation. A thirst for power. Loneliness. All familiar emotions, nothing new. Nothing he would miss out on if he had stuck in the company of ordinary humans.

There was no point to regrets now, of course. There were good sides to being in the know. Still, if he could choose to take back time and remain ignorant, he would. As interesting as his life on the Island had been, it simply wasn't worth the price of his peace of mind.

He took the glass with a low hum and almost mechanically retraced his steps from moments before to prepare another portion. He smiled to himself dryly as he mindlessly mixed the drink. Still, this was his work. And work he would. Regardless of any personal reasons for his dislike of Disaster, the man deserved to have his story heard without judgment.

"So, you're excluded from this... prophecy, now?" he asked as he passed by, placing the glass on the table in front of Disaster as he headed straight for his seat. There were certain limits to his servitude.

"Oh, no." Without a moment's hesitation, the man snagged the liquor out of the vamp's hands and downed it just like the last. The words were coming out easier and easier. "I'm in it. 'When Disaster and Chaos cross paths, destruction lies in their wake.' That's why I try to wear fingerless gloves around the darling; less contact that way. And, when They mean destruction--" He slammed the glass down on the convenient table just to perform the effect, clapping his now-free hands together once. The sound echoed slightly through the counselor's room . . . "--BAM. Craters tend to form.

"Not that you need to worry about that much now; I'm not 'Disaster' anymore."

A small chuckle escaped his lips once more; again, he had no idea why. He felt horrible. He felt worse than when he had arrived. And yet, a cruel smile began to form onto his lips, one all too telling of his feelings.

"I can only give destruction-- managed to destroy a bank on our first meeting, too. A bank!" He shook his head softly. "Worst building to get caught in the crossfire. Metis, though—she can cancel all that. 'Reality and Chaos link hands, nullifying the two to one.' Two to one; most think it means a destined relationship. And, with how they've hit it off . . ." He giggled like a child.

"It’s horrible. The worst, really. I've known the boy for over a century, and yet SHE can just prance in and . . . and, fall in love!" The laughter grew. It was all he could do, at this point. "Just like that! After so many years of vying for his attention, she gains it in but a second! I hate her so much!"

Richard seated himself comfortably back onto the couch and resumed watching Disaster with an expression of neutral interest. Silently, he nursed his drink, pausing briefly to raise an eyebrow at the clap. For one tense moment he was worried, but then the man's reassurance came, and again Richard sighed quietly, with relief this time; at least that wouldn't be a source of more destruction in his poor office.

A slight frown came upon his face as he watched Disaster - Disaster? - descend into his hysterical fits of laughter. He wanted to say that he sympathized, really - but he couldn't. While he did feel sorry for him, it was more for the fact that the audience for his breakdown was numerous and certainly less forgiving than Richard himself, rather than for the situation itself. Somebody over a hundred years old should really know better than to let his life revolve around a silly, hopeless crush. Still, face-to-face with such straightforward distress, Richard couldn't help but let out a comforting, low murmur, a wordless 'it's okay' of sorts.

Thoughtfully, he sipped the brandy for a moment before he answered.

"There's the prophecy." he said slowly. "There is the natural chemistry between them, the fact that they suit each other. And there is the distinct possibility that, well, Ambrose might simply not be into men." A bit of a wry smile seeped onto his face, but his tone remained gentle and calm, somewhat coaxing. "Those are all factors outside of Metis's, Ambrose's, or your influence. Why do you hate her, when it is anything but her fault? Don't you think she might simply be the scapegoat for your frustration?"

Richard paused a second, then asked: "And what should I call you now?"

"You call it 'natural' only because you haven't seen the two together," the man snapped back, still grinning ear-to-pierced-ear. He was nearly in hysterics after Richard's pause. Why the pause? The problem was as clear as day! "You can't pry the two off of each other with a . . . a crowbar!" He couldn't help but chuckle yet again. "Weird word, crowbar." But, he digressed. "And, it's not just that the darling isn't 'into' men-- he isn't into anyone but Metis; and her, him. You'd think that they'd feel some sort of attraction for anyone else in the whole wide world-- but, no! Not a soul! It's just them, and--!

"Maybe she is a scape goat," he admitted, thinking dangerously out loud (not like his mind was more protected, just more of a pain to get to). There was so much pain, and yet, his entire face was fixated into the happiest expression . . . "But, there's a reason for it! I tried so hard to help him, to care for him, to get him to at least appreciate me . . . and, she does all that I ever wanted to do within a day. She holds his hand, cares for him-- and, like magic, the voices go away. She doesn't even try, and--" He held his ringed hands up in defeat. Complete defeat. "--and, it's done. Just like that."

Maybe there was something he could have done differently. Maybe-- but, he constantly replayed every conversation in his mind, every occurrence between the two of them. He thought he had done all he could, but the girl disproved that. She was proof of his failure.

The man collapsed his head into his hands, the smile nearly glowing out of the shadows. Here he was, confessing his loses, but the signal for happiness remained. It was on the verge of-- it was ridiculous. He had passed the invisible line long ago.
"Just like that . . ."
It was ridiculous beyond repair.


". . . Vernal." The word was barely whispered, a breath under his limbs. "That's not my first name, but . . . Then again, I don't remember it anymore. Not many do." Names didn't matter Up There, only titles. Only the boost in ego. "I heard it, liked it, and chose it all by myself. Vernal Equinox."

As unsettling as the transfixed grin was, Richard's gaze did not stray from the man's face. He watched silently as the words spilled out, an image of focused serenity in the face of a storm of emotions.

"Fine - 'un'natural, then." he corrected, with air quotes to boot. "Out of their control, regardless."

Vernal Equinox... A bit pretentious, or like a name a flower child would adapt. He supposed it fit. Suppressing a smirk, he cleared his throat to speak again.

"People don't fall in love with the one who tries the hardest to win their favor." he said softly. "Even if you were the better thing for him than her, you shouldn't've expected him to choose what's best for him, when clearly you didn't, pining over somebody without the slightest interest in you. For. A. Hundred. Years." The last few words were pronounced clearly and sharply as he glared at the man with impatience. Honestly, what sort of a delusional twerp one had to be to do something like that? He hoped the rest of Them weren't like that-- but he supposed They were. A whole pantheon of crackpots. People in positions of power always were unhinged by the sole virtue of the burden; and those deities were also ex-humans, whose lives were horrid enough to eschew their humanity for a shot at changing them. They were bound to be twisted little balls of issues.

Marvelous.

Richard leaned back in his seat, throwing the chandelier a bitter look as he took a swig of the alcohol.

The man frowned at such reiteration-- wasn't the councilor supposed to comfort him, to a certain degree? The mention of things being out of everyone's control was anything but satisfying. It was only confirming that there was nothing he could do. Nothing . . . Nothing but argue back.

He retracted the shielding arms, doing all that was left to do: argue.

"A hundred years, as you cared to note so distinctly," Vernal began, "is little time at all Up There. Imagine . . . Imagine you have all the entertainment in the world at your feet, just like this very room you have set up for yourself. Events across the world are viewable all at once, and the effect is . . . overwhelming. Intoxicating. A century Up There passes quickly because of it, regardless of how much you resist it." He and Laughter had tried so many times to do that very action: resist. It was always for naught, though.

Laughter . . . He giggled inappropriately before continuing:

"I was not pining for a hundred years; I was too distracted for such a dedicated action. Whenever I could visit Ambrose, yes, my affection for him was clear, but . . . If I was able to: yes, I vould have pined. Es vould have been vonderful, too." His tongue slipped; without a single warning, the fallen deity reached into his mouth and yanked at his tongue stud, sending a wave of pain over him. He inhaled sharply and recovered.

". . . You would like it Up There," Vernal concluded, leaning back on the couch in order to properly face the chandelier. Each word was heavily pronounced, sharpened so that the dreaded accent could not return. "You could drink and drink and never run out."

His gaze remained on the ceiling as Vernal spoke, a crease growing in his brow. Only the odd giggle brought his attention back to the ex-deity, and he put on an expression of such impartiality it could almost seem aloof. As he listened on, though, more and more amusement seeped through the cracks in his mask, and the last words caused a silent scoff to escape him. Really, now...

Richard shook his head to bring back some of the forced neutrality. "Fair enough, perhaps I do not know enough of the reality of existing Up There be to passing judgment. I do apologize." He did sound sincere, if a bit dismissive. "Still, if you love him so, you could have prioritized him a little more, despite the distractions, no...?" He shrugged. "Or perhaps I am jumping to conclusions again. But, really, so are you."

Stating that Richard would like it right after he had been shown why it was terrible...? A misguided notion, at best.

He stared at Vernal for a moment, then broke into a simper. "Yes... That is an adorable idea, but I don't think so." He swirled the drink in his glass, still with that disbelieving, slightly conceited smile. "See, the best part of being me is that I can choose exactly how human I want to be. I didn't lose anything when I chose to be immortal." His voice was soft and friendly, as if he were explaining something to a child; only the slightest quirk of his mouth spoke of malice. "I am free to pine after anything, should the fancy strike me. I did not lose myself."

Prioritized more? If he had any ounce of power left, the heavens would be raining infernal fire from Their cloud overlooks right about now. The nerve-- the very nerve of Vernal's existence was being attacked with the vampire's every word: his inability to do more but needing all the while; his in-creeping humanity; the mention of having a choice in deity-hood, which all of Them had, case-in-point being the darling himself; and, the loosing of himself. He had lost his original self a long time ago. Perhaps if the points were brought up individually, he could logic his way out, but with all of them presented to him at once . . .

There was no valid counter-argument; the man knew that much.
And yet, all he could do was smile.

It started with a soft chuckle, a sharp intake of breath-- and then, the laughter truly began, erupting from nowhere and not seeing any end. It wasn't that the situation was hilarious in any way, but rather that there was nothing else he could do. No way out, no way to avoid failure; truly, this visit was a disaster even by his high standards. No flashing lights or a deafening roar of thunder but rather the destruction of his one play in this castle. He had presumed that Richard would be more understanding than any other in the unique establishment, and perhaps he was still correct-- if the man was, though, then this was and had been all for naught.

The laughter continued, unnatural though it was.

They knew his past now-- that closely-guarded secret for so many years!-- and nothing could change that. They would use it, abuse it to no end, until he told All of Them what exactly he had done to Ambrose. And, while he wanted to state with every confidence that this was all but impossible, this meeting had taught him otherwise. He couldn't guarantee his protection of Ambrose. He couldn't guarantee anything.

It was so ridiculous. He was such a failure. Such a failure!

(( Congrats: you made him snap. ))

Vernal had a funny way of reacting to stress, that much was certain.

Richard didn't smirk nor chuckle, there was no sadistic glee to be had; but there was not much sympathy, either. He stared at the fallen deity in a detached, blank way, with only the traces of interest, sort of like one watched a TV show only for the lack of anything better to do as they waited for the next scheduled one. After all, all he could do was to wait out the breakdown.

Sipping the drink, he mused about how well the sweet cola complimented the dry taste of brandy. However did he live without it before it was invented? Soda was truly marvelous, almost as much as trains and cars... and TV... and gaming consoles. He sighed, glancing around the room at all his artifacts, wishing he was somewhere else, doing something else, then looked to Vernal again impatiently. Okay, the laughter was starting to grate on his ears.

He cleared his throat, then realizing the futility of such small gestures, stood up and walked the few steps towards the opposite couch. Placing his hand on Vernal's shoulder, as if to anchor him back down to reality from the expanses of his hysteria, he took a sip again.

"Listen." he said, loudly enough to sound over the sick laughter. "Are you going to do something about the pathetic state you're in? Or are you going to step down, since with your newfound mortality all it would take is one bullet?" The grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, in reassurance or in threat. "I can assist you with either. It is of no consequence to me."

(( Yup. ))

The volume wasn't necessary after Richard's first word of prompting; the laughter ended abruptly, Vernal jolting at the physical touch. That wasn't what stopped the hysteria, though.

I was trying to silence you and your 'think like a human' strategy. Not that you ever listen to me . . . The unnatural smile began to soften out of the man's face as the vampire continued to speak-- and, in the background, the audience member continued his commentary. Listen to HIM, at least. Think . . . Think about his offer. And, don't give me some crap about needing to protect Ambrose. Be selfish. Be selfish for once in your damn existence.

For once? Hadn't he been selfish enough in his lifetime-- and, past it? Everyone that joined the ranks of Them were selfish to the last drop of blood in Their veins; wasn't he just the same? His entire existence was selfish. He wanted to do what little good he could. He wanted to be selfless, for once.

Ever since you've laid eyes on the boy, you've been nothing but selfless.
And, he would continue to do so. Being human would not change this. The smile faded fully away from the man's face as he took a deep breath in . . .

"Thank you for the offer," the mortal managed to breathe out, his voice slightly hoarse instead of the usual, put-on high tone, "but I will not be needing that bullet."

Have you really thought this through, Occurrence?

"I do, however, need your advice," he pressed forward, shutting out Laughter's voice once more. "How does . . ." He tried taking another deep breath in but could only manage a short one. It would have to do. "How does one become less pathetic?"

A shadow of a satisfied smile passed briefly through his face as he patted the shoulder. "Very well."

Break and rebuild.

He took a step back and turned around, moving a few paces to stand in front of the fireplace and watch the flickering flames. The fire wasn't big, just about big enough to keep the place room-temperature. Blazes danced across the tinder, hypnotizing in their destructive glory, casting a warm glow that outlined Richard's silhouette.

After a moment, he turned around again, blinking away the flashes from his eyes, then focused on the ex-deity. "We all have weaknesses." he began finally, wearing a half-smile as he raised the glass as if in a toast, then emptied it in one swig. With a satisfied sigh, he placed it on the mantelpiece, then looked to Vernal again seriously. "They're not what makes you weak, or pathetic, but rather how you deal with them. You need to know them better than the back of your hand." He narrowed his eyes. "And I don't mean things like your mortality, or the fact that you can't fart thunder anymore. That's how the rest of this planet's inhabitants are, and they can deal with it. So can you. No, I'm talking about a much more pitiful weak spot of yours."

He shifted his weight from one foot to another to ease the pain of his broken hip.

"Consider for a moment what you allowed me to do to you. With only words." Contempt rung clear in his voice. "Do you know the saying, 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me'? Words only have as much power over you as you give them, Vernal." He gave him a pointed look. "Even German words. You would not reduce me to a blubbering mess by merely talking to me, or making me talk, no matter how harsh, mean or truthful the words were. Do you know why? Because I know myself, I know who I am and who I am not. Nothing can be said that's not either untrue, or something I am already aware of. And yes, perhaps my life's story was not as traumatic as yours was." He inclined his head. "I know. But all that means is that you should strive even harder to not let it make you vulnerable. Know thyself and nobody will be able to hurt you. Know thyself and thou shall know the universe and the Gods."

Richard crossed his arms, keeping a steady, intent gaze trained on the man on the sofa.

"Verstehst du mich?"


((xD Gosh, I love it when he goes on a roll, throwing around quotes I didn't know I knew))

The talk of weakness, a swift swig of the drink . . . They were signs of brief equality to the mortal. And then, the comment on farting thunder was made, and the moment was lost. That shift of the legs, though-- something to note, but not to linger on. There were more pressing matters.

He followed the vampire's gaze, not quite meeting but close enough to retain the full impact of its focus. Words were powerful, regardless of what mindset the receiver was in. Words made an idea take shape, sullied the common thoughts of others, controlled the masses with the single breath of a single man, and could even rip out the heart of another to the point of insanity. He had witnessed such things mostly second-handed and knew of their strength before entering this office, even abusing it for his and the darling's own needs. To be on the receiving end, however, was a completely different matter. He had experience verbal abuse, yes, but not to this extent. Never to this extent.

If what the vampire said was correct, then it needn't not ever happen again.
Something in his control. The first long-term thing near his power-hungry grasp. If he could control this event from happening again . . . If he could finally control something, anything--

". . . Ja," he replied consciously, swallowing hard at such a word. He managed to force it out regardless. Breathe, breathe. Meet the challenge head-on. "Ja, ich verstehe."

But, he could not hold it for long. The eye contact was lost.
"I know most of the universe already, though. And, Gods do not exist, only Them granted with slightly more authority than most."

The fire notably flickered, nearly taking a shape--
"I do not know myself," he finally admitted, staring down at the flames as they settled back down. "I do not know myself . . . and, my weaknesses."
That needed to change. But, how?

(( <3 ))

He smiled slowly, contentedly, at the first words out of Vernal's mouth. The excuses that came after them made the smile drop, though, and he flinched ever-so-slightly at the existence of Gods being denied so definitively. It didn't sit well with him. Still, if God wanted to hide from a bunch of ex-human deities, surely He would be able to.

Richard's back being turned to the fireplace, he did not see the fire change.

"Sehr gut. But do you not see how preposterous it is to know the universe, and yourself not?" He shook his head in disbelief. "You need to know."

He paced a few steps back and forth.

"Ask yourself, what hurts you, what makes you sad, what angers you? Those are things clever manipulators can use to get a reaction out of you. You need to be aware of them so that you can guard yourself against such attempts." He glanced to Vernal with a slight smirk, though he was quick to wipe it in favor of a more serious expression. "And then, ask yourself what makes you happy, what do you believe in, what would you never give up. Those are things you must draw strength from." He paused a split second, then waved a hand in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "And please, think twice before you answer 'the darling' to all of the latter set of questions. It is unwise to rely on one person to that extent."

Richard stared at Vernal intently and unflinchingly as he crossed his arms again. "I can not, and will not, answer this for you. Consider it homework." He scrunched up his nose. "Along with a shower and a change of clothes. Humans need to do that, you know."

It really was preposterous. Then again, one did not think as such Up There. If one was caught in a wave of insanity . . . But, that was enough of that. He wasn't Up There anymore, and thinking about such things would only make it worse. So much worse.

He made a mental list with the questions, memorizing them one by one. He tried to answer them immediately, too-- there was no reason to wait, was there? What hurt him was this conversation, right now; the same for sadness and anger-- no, that wasn't right. Only the candidates should anger him. The talk angered him because they were mentioned. He could not deny the Germanic grief, though, that sawing of the language upon his pierced ears. It was too great of a weakness to ignore-- and, that smirk. That conceited little smirk on the vamp's face the list, too. Such a 'list' had never been this long in his length memory, if it could be considered a list before; mortality truly gave so much excess, just as it took away so much of immortality's simplicity. How disgusting.

The next set of questions were easy-- but, his patented answer was quickly taken away. He didn't 'rely' on the darling, did he? It was folly to rely on someone entirely, and yet . . . He faltered with such a question, unsure what the correct answer could be, if any at all existed-- but was, remarkably, saved by the vampire. Laughter placed in a small chuckle in his mouth for him so that the man could properly recover from the shock. He got up from his seat, smiling slightly at the ash left behind. A black imprint on an otherwise nice couch.

"I suppose that's my cue to leave, then?" Good. He needed to get away from this accused office. He needed to get away from Them, too, but that would never happen.

Richard was going to give a negative answer, wanting to say a few things more, but then his gaze fell to the couch and his eyes narrowed. "Yes." he said coldly. That was enough help for one evening, he supposed. He didn't want to overwork Vernal's minuscule brain, after all.

His gaze flickered over the man. "I expect you will report to me, should you find out about anything of particular interest." It was said calmly, indifferently, as if that was the most natural thing. An indirect agreement to the terms of the ex-deity's earlier proposal. To signify that the meeting was over, Richard walked up to the table and started collecting the glasses, as if the visitor had already gone. He would help - mostly for Ambrose's sake, really - and accept Vernal's help in return, but there would be no hand-shake, no amiability, even pretended, between them. There couldn't be.

Strictly business. It was good for a change.

The ash sealed the deal; fair enough. The true surprise came from the vampire's order, an honest response of shock hitting the man's face. He recovered quickly, though, a wide grin replacing whatever gaped expression he previously bore. He accepted. He accepted! About time!

"Of course," was the low reply, waving a ringed hand in mock salute. The smile was still worn, but it wasn't out of any curtsey for the vampire. It was merely a default, a trained facade for the outside world. "And, I expect the same gesture regarding Ambrose." The deal wouldn't be fair otherwise. The deal wouldn't work otherwise. As he turned towards the door and was about to exit, however, a thought struck him, wiping the mask off. He turned slightly, just enough for one to see the absence of a smirk.

"And, I don't require anything . . . too embarrassing," the man amended, grasping the door handle tightly. "Just enough to know if he's okay or not."

Not wanting to hear the victory in Richard's voice or bare witness to his conceited little smirk, the mortal stormed out of the room, not knowing where he was going but happy enough leaving what he knew behind.

He ignored the man as he gathered up the empty glasses and bottles. Well, there were... quite a lot. How convenient that not many people were up at this hour to see him stalking to the nearest bathroom to clean them. The only sign of him hearing Vernal's words was a small crease appearing in his brow. Yes, that was another of the terms, there was no need to reiterate them. He stood, rubbing his chin, pretending to be deeply in thought as he waited for the man to finally take his leave and his foul smell with him.

But then, the amendment came, and his movement ceased as he gave Vernal a sidelong look. Well, well...

Perhaps, he'd been partly mistaken about the man, letting prejudice cloud his judgment. Or perhaps he had been very, very right, and that was merely an attempt at manipulating him into rethinking his opinion. Well, it was certainly something to ponder about.

Richard chuckled to himself as he went to pour himself another glass of brandy.