Scene #679: Questions

Owner	Pose
Ainsley	Ainsley does not often retreat like this, but when she does she finds very pretty places to go. Her gaze sweeps over crystalline trees that snake up into the sky, with a canopy of beautiful blue leaves as if the sky had created its own patterns. The forest reminds lit just because of the trees, the way they emit a soft glow that compounds when it's an entire forest of them. Ainsley is seated on a crystal jutting from the ground. Her eyes pointed forward with that thousand yard stare of someone who has had a profoundly bad couple of days. She's dressed in some soft and fuzzy clothing -- a pair of pajama pants, fuzzy dog slippers, a bathrobe, a silky shirt -- but she has her sword with her as well. She picked this area because she didn't start to cook when exposed to the light here. She had to use her blood magic to save someone's life, so she's absolutely stuffed full of dark mana right now, which probably isn't helping her mood. Supernatural senses might mistake her for a vampire or something similar.
D	Trouble finds Ainsley in spades, these days. It's easy to understand why she would want some time alone to rest, contemplate, and recover. Setting aside her mana's health, her own strength and spirit must be preserved alike if she is to carry out the duty laid down at her feet, and while these are resources her dearest allies can bolster, in the end only she can truly sustain herself. For some, this kind of self-reliance would be a great asset; for Ainsley, however, it seems to leave her vulnerable. D comes to her like any of the other wraiths haunting her thoughts. Like a shadow detaching itself from the darkness massed in the forest, he approaches in silence, wreathed in a chilling, otherwordly aura. Only the gleam in his eyes lends him any life; he is otherwise as emotionless and frigid as a sculpture made flawless marble. The pale blue light shining from every tree branch is complementary to his pallor, enhancing the ghastly presence he exudes. If he had any warmth to him, he might be called dream-like and beautiful, and seductive to the senses, but as cold as he has become, he is a terror to behold. "Miss Ainsley." His murmur lacks malice. His hand keeps away from his sword. Does Ainsley find this at all comforting? D looks at her without any care or intention to bring comfort. "Your current condition leaves you easy to track. You shouldn't be out alone in this state; anyone could find you. You don't try to hide it at all, do you?"
Ainsley	Ainsley turns her head as if she was in a dream. She doesn't seem startled or surprised. The frown that grows on her face is a look of 'Oh. It's you.' She doesn't seem angry, just exhausted and the existence of another reminder of how the Multiverse creates great tragedies doesn't add any extra unhappiness to her mind at all. Not that she isn't afraid, but something about her own numb state makes it hard for her to react in any natural way to anything. When she speaks, she doesn't even bother hiding the soft accent reminiscent of a South American native, a feminine Spanish he may not be accustomed to from her. "I don't," she admits, "Why would I? Acting like it's strange is what makes it strange." She sniffs and lets out a sigh. "Strange. Speaking of... I expected you would try to kill me the next time you saw me. Although you haven't really changed that much in personality, have you...? Honor enough to arrange duels with people who can kill you if they wanted to." Referencing his battle with Psyber, as a matter of fact. "What do you want?" she wonders.
D	His approach ends a few feet away from where she sits. Keeping his distance may not make the meeting feel peaceful or right, but it does create the illusion of safety. If he notices her odd behavior or her odd accent, he doesn't react outside a very slight narrowing of his eyes which could suggest either curiosity or hostility. It must be frustrating to not be able to read either his emotions or his intentions, but Ainsley sounds and appears too numb and exhausted to display her usual spark. Dismay, too, escapes her grasp, and despair and fright along with it. For once, Ainsley and D may be on a very similar level, mentally speaking. Neither of them has any tolerance for wasted words, feelings, or gestures on a night like this. There is a long, silent stretch before D answers her questions. Is he considering his words, or waiting for the right time to speak? The wind passes by as a gentle breeze rattling the forest boughs as if in echo of the sigh he releases before he explains himself. "I have no interest in killing you." The words are uttered without conviction. He does not care to bring harm to Ainsley, but he very well might, if pushed to do so, even if lacking for /interest/. "I have come looking for you because I have questions, and because you required little effort to find." The silence returns, contemplative and tense. At last, his lips shift around another low murmur. "You speak to me as if you know me, but I do not know you at all."
Ainsley	The pause is met with a silent stare, as if Ainsley was trained to appear as neutral as possible when presented with a threat like this. Which she was. Right now, it's her coping mechanism. She watches the way he reacts -- or doesn't react -- and decides that he is dangerous enough, but smart enough, to not just strike down someone who presents no actual threat to him. "I spoke to you once. You helped me to deal with a change I was undergoing. I had killed someone, out of a need to survive, someone who may very well have been ignorant of the evils of his world. You told me that it is not an easy struggle and that is when I learned about your inner battle. Your hunger. A hunger that haunts me, but perhaps in a different manner. I relate to you, in some way, because you were an example of strength against an emptiness that was intrinsically evil." She blinks once, slowly. "I read about you, after I spoke to you. I kept up with your efforts. I did not fight side by side with you, but I felt you were someone who deserved respect, and understanding. Your efforts affected me, and made me think I could be strong." And then she makes a soft, pained noise as she shifts in her seating. Sore from the battle that she was in not too long ago. "You know Setsuko and Beli much better, though. I hope that helps you know me a little better."
D	"I do not remember any past conversations." The revelation shouldn't come as a surprise to Ainsley. D's allegiance had been altered, and so had his essence. The strength Ainsley references has been eroded inside him. After casting aside the disciplines and principles defining him as a premier Vampire Hunter, he's become a predator himself, swayed by urges and instinct rather than any greater purpose. Whatever struggle Ainsley has against her own hunger is no longer a struggle he shares. It's painfully obvious in the way he conducts himself now, assaulting Yuuki, and feeding from Setsuko; he is a changed man. Why should his memory be left intact if nothing else? "Killing someone for survival's sake should not leave you feeling ashamed. Life is not as precious as you think, in those circumstances." D doesn't shake his head, frown, or argue; his simple, quiet words carry immense weight despite their absent passion. "To think otherwise is to deny the significance of your own life and value." What other proof does Ainsley need to see how far he has fallen? He looks directly at the Quetzal, his eyes as hard and dark as the steel strapped to his back. "Neither Miss Kaminagi nor Miss Klum mean anything to me, except I see them as the ones responsible for your deception. The lie you've made up about past conversations -- was it their idea, or did you conceive of it yourself in order to contribute? /Someone/ is responsible for this campaign against me, but I doubt you are the originator." Lurking beneath his words like a serpent in the reeds is the beginning of a very dangerous and potent anger.
Ainsley	Ainsley does feel saddened that he didn't remember that. She lowers her gaze as she listens to him. He makes sense, but it's in a pragmatic and predatory way, a monster's view of how to handle killing another creature. When he speaks a paranoid notion that there's a campaign against him, like to convince him that something is true when it isn't, she looks up at him again, her brow furrowed at that much. "I am going to explain your actions in the past. Things that cannot be denied, because they have had lasting consequences, things you were very much a part of." She then sniffs and sigh. "First: You, as a Hunter, worked with the Union to deal with a man who was trying to pinpoint the secret to your world's vampirism. This led you to Castlevania, because of Dracula's involvement in the situation. Dracula was assisting your target, and this meant one innocent was killed and three more were turned into vampires... the very three girls that you were trying to free from Purgatorio, the three girls that you trusted to leave to Beli so that she might find a way to reverse the effects of the curse." She then goes on, and says, "You assisted Setsuko Kaminagi with matters personal to her. She trusted you and you fought side-by-side with her. She has been invested in this fight because of your efforts, and not because she has anything else to gain from it. You created this situation, D." "And Beli. You fought angels and demons, and you helped her overcome challenges. You fought in a war you did not have to be a part of, which led you to be integral to the creation of Beli's current form, and the creation of Purgatorio as it is now. By attacking that place, you hurt Beli more than you can ever hope to know. That is what angered Psyber, I wager." "This notion of yours, that we are somehow wrong or delusional... what fuels that? Who is convincing you that we are wrong? Can you really be sure that your place now is correct? This woman, Medusa, do you believe anything she says? How about Dracula? His minions? These creatures of darkness you once would have fought against so vehemently." She then points at his hand. "That companion of yours. He isn't tolerating this either, is he?" "You have doubts, don't you? Why else would you find someone to talk to that isn't a part of that side?"
D	The bare facts would be hard to refute, if not for the curse, and even armed by it, D is assailed by the same dizzying confusion he'd sometimes felt since awakening in Castlevania's dungeon. Ainsley's approach is analytical, and her words brook no argument, yet his mind rakes through each syllable and turn of phrase for any hint of obvious deception, anyway. To Ainsley's eyes, he is as stoic and calm as can be, but his unruffled exterior is just a disguise worn over the obssessive reel his mind takes. Rosa -- the village's name is known to him, but not the contract Ainsley references. He had never been told where the vampire girls had come from, had he? Was it possible for them to belong to his native world? That first unsettling concern puts a minute tension into his jaw. It would go unnoticed, if Ainsley didn't have sharp eyes. The story continues, telling a tale of D's service to Setsuko Kaminagi. Had something like friendship formed between them? Something else? Camaraderie -- more? Would such explain her passionate pleas for his sake, and the conviction behind her sword? D's brow is the next to crack, becoming crinkled after Ainsley speaks about Beli and Purgatorio. Compared to his unmoving mask, the subtle expression is like a raw wound. Psyber had raged at D for the same cause. For Beli's sake, for the sake of his friends, whom D had gone out of his way to hurt. D's mind advances naturally to the story Ainsley does not know -- to Yuuki Kuran, and to Zero who'd shown such commitment to ending D's life. Why? Deceit is not the wellspring of emotions as powerful as these. One does not kill for a lie, only in desperation to maintain it, and no one he had faced had been crazed, only -- Malevolence creeps into the air surrounding D. More fearsome than the wintry bite his aura held at his arrival, it oozes from him like blood, like pus, seeming to darken the shadows he stands among, and the shadows clinging to his face. His expression doesn't alter, but that is somehow enough to convey his anger over being at all affected by what he treats as outright lies. Reality is doubled before his vision, and something wrenches his heart, but neither his confusion nor his sickening dismay are enough to prevent him from taking a step forward in warning. "I came here to hear the full story -- to hear what lies you would have me believe. I had thought if I confronted you, and gave you the audience you desired, you would see the futility in continuing this quest to manipulate me. Do not concern yourself with Lord Dracula, or Miss Gorgon, or either of their minions or the Confederacy, or with /me/ -- I am only as you see me, and I will not be swayed by mere words!" Spitting out his defiance eases the throbbing in his chest and head, and calms the venomous presence rising around him, as if appeased by his statements.
Ainsley	Ainsley sees the effect she had on him. She watches him with a quiet calm that betrays no fear or uncertainty. She /is/ afraid of him, but it's hard to spot the tension in her muscles when she just does not move around a lot normally. She is ordinarily a very still and quiet person. It makes it easier to focus on other people, and understand what they're saying. She saw a lot of emotion, more than others might. It isn't easy for her to spot, but she can see a confusion, the doubt working into his mind. "No? Then why are you so angry?" She frowns at him, as if disappointed at the foolishness of such a statement. "I am concerned with them because they are my enemies. Not just because they are on the other side, but because they seek to harm and manipulate the people I care about." If his anger is a boiling malevolence, her anger is a rumbling, but chained animal. "Have you developed some rapport with Dracula, or Medusa, that I am not aware of? Have you talked to them, felt emotions about them, that would warrant such insistence? Do you remember what you once felt about them? Because I would be astounded to think they actually care about you beyond a weapon to use against us." "You would have done nothing more than strike them down, if you were given an excuse, a sliver of a reason. Not because you didn't care, but because you did. They were things you could not abide. You would not. Your blade meant something more than the hunger that consumes you, it was your mark as a Hunter." Her voice is emitting a sound of thunder, and getting ... heavy. Her eyes are wide. Her jaw is tense. She's expecting him to stab her, but her face tells a story of someone who welcomes the confrontation, because they've just lost all semblance of patience. "You've lost your conviction," she spits, disgusted with what he is now, or more what they did to him. "You've let them turn you into a beast who doesn't even know himself, all because it's just more convenient to accept what they turned you into." Somewhere in the back of Ainsley's mind, a pulsing wrath overflows, as if all the awful, evil things that she's seen, things she could not have stopped, had finally made her glass overflow. This isn't an outburst. She's just Done. (He's going to hurt me.) she thinks, as she glares at him, daring him to do just that. (This is incredibly foolish.)
D	The shadow standing before Ainsley appears to grow immense and imposing. Wind ruffles his cloak's heavy hem as it steals across the forest floor in a chilling rush, its unnatural gust bearing a haunting, whispered moan. At the same instant, the dark jewel embedded in his elegant sword hilt catches the ambient light in a thriving reflection not unlike an animal's alert eye glinting from the shadows. D looks down on Ainsley as if from atop a distant summit she could never dare to climb. He looks down at her like he would a kneeling peasant or a pesky insect, absolute contempt curling his upper lip to reveal a sharp-tipped fang. Ainsley displays disgust, bravado, and sentiment, but most of all, she displays the rigid and forthright confidence only absolute truth could impart. Unarmed except for her wits and unarmored except for her impermeable dedication to her beliefs, she should inspire praise and pride, but all she'll find in D's red-tinted glare is an arrogant loathing, and the blood-curdling promise to reward her insolence with suffering. "My loyalty should be no concern of yours! Your motivation is plain -- my patron is your enemy, and therefore /I/ have become your enemy! You will say anything to gain a foothold in your war, a war which I have no interest in /conceding/ -- " The nearest trees abruptly shake as a cacophonous force erupts from him at his next forward step. His cloak rises up around him as if caught in a tempest, spreading out behind his shoulders like madly-flapping wings. D's eyes blaze with a fury unlike him, scarlet and hateful, and the surrounding gale blisters with his malice. He lays his hand on the hilt of his sword, and takes another step forward, the night howling with his killing intent. "DO NOT SPEAK TO ME OF MY CONVICTIONS!" His lunge brings his sword shrieking from its scabbard. It cleaves the air in a dark slash meant to split Ainsley in half -- Another shout is ripped from D. Frustration and raw heartache alike echo through the blue-lit trees. At the last possible second, his weapon turns, delivering the blade's flat to Ainsley's neck and shoulder rather than its edge. The blow is not reduced in force, but at least it is not lethal.
Ainsley	Ainsley stares at something that is quite likely to kill her, but everything she has been taught so far, that hope and passion are good to have, makes her unable to resist just glaring at him. Some notion that she has a chance to reach him, some chance that does not involve hurting him physically. Because he has seen enough of that, and she has as well. His darkness and arrogance is only something she expected, of someone she is quite aware is being controlled by forces that drive him away from his true path. He tries to discard her words, and then she says something that pushes him over the brink. She isn't aware of just what she was trying to do. For a moment, she almost thought she was being a complete idiot. But she knew she had to prod him. She knew she had no choice. She had to explore just how much of him was lost or smothered. His sword comes at her. She had trained to use a blade, but nothing like this. Nothing this powerful and absurdly dangerous. She makes an effort to keep it from obliterating her bones, but the strike is enough to dislocate and crack bones and knock her off her seat. She cries out as she tumbles to the ground, and gets covered in dust and debris. She shivers from the pain, sucking in her breath, tears running down her face, but then reaches up to press a glowing red hand to her shoulder, a sickening /crack/ popping it back into place as she repairs her own wound enough to keep conscious and mobile, if only for a little longer. She wheezes at him, "You held back. That just proves my point. Can I leave now without any extra trouble? Have you got what you came for?" She's frowning at him again, though more careful about it, in case he's itching to stab her. She's more ready to try to avoid it, though.
D	The wind dwindles before it dies. Little by little, the weight bearing down on Ainsley in the form of D's hateful glare begins to ease. The shadows retreat, and the malevolence ebbs, restoring some semblance of peace to the region. Where those red eyes had dominated the scene and washed the area in a scarlet radiance, the blue resurges, as beautiful and as calm as it had been before D had arrived. The dhampir releases a low, trembling breath. He turns his back on Ainsley. "I'm through with you." His shadow retreats into the forest without another sound. The last crushing remnant of his icy will goes with him, releasing Ainsley from its frightful grasp.
Ainsley	Ainsley's stare watches him leave, and regains that emptiness of someone crushed by a despairing sensation, something that makes her feel even more angry with herself and with the consequences of her actions. Then she gets up to a stand, grasping one of her arms, and limps off to get her wound looked at.