He steps in and presses the buttons for the top floor before answering.
"You were asking how close you needed to be to avoid harm. I didn't want you thinking the elevator would just drop out from under you without me. It's not going to happen."
His eyes get wide a moment as he looks at the floor he's standing on, "Oh. Yeah, I guess I wasn't expecting the tower of terror, but maybe I should be more cautious." He laughs nervously before squinting at him when Vincent grins at him, "Okay, so either you're fucking with me for fun, which fair, I deserve it, I have proved I'm an idiot, or you're actually serious."
And in that case, he's going to stand awfully close because falling to his death right about now sounded like not the right course of action. "If I get sucked into a void or what ever I'm grabbing your arm whether you'd help pull me out of not." He returns, his own smile rather pathetic, what with the terrible guilt and the extended magic use taxing his whole everything. Kind of felt like standing on the edge of organ failure as his lungs labored to breathe.
That will earn him probably the first genuine laugh Hanna's heard from him.
"A joke, only. I wouldn't play games with your safety like that. Especially given how important you will be to getting this solved, which, I believe we all want, no?"
The elevator moves and up they're going. Like any normal elevator. Everything is behaving normally for him.
His smile falters a little at that, not that he didn't like making people laugh, but it was that next part. Magic like this shit usually had a cost. It's why he'd forced himself to run after David had died instead of trying to do something, anything to the parent trap that was following him in the Otherworld. He isn't going to pussy foot around the fact that he's pretty sure he's not going to be around until after Nico figures out he's dead. God...poor kid.
"Y-yeah, exactly. It's the end goal we all want and I'm here for it, every step of the way."
He waits until the doors are open and they've stepped out on deck before he looks to Hanna. There's a long, probing look made all the more unsettling by his mismatched eyes, before he lets out a soft huff and shakes his head.
"Of course. You know what will be required, don't you? I was going to wait to tell you but I should have realized: some things are fairly universal."
Hanna steps out, still fairly close as he rubs at one of his arms, nodding slowly.
"I kind of figured, yeah. That's why I came and got you, if it needed more than just the magic being severed, you could help out. You don't have to get your hands dirty though, really. I can...I can do it myself." If he did, then maybe he really could keep Vincent out of it, just say he'd fixed it all, and that'd be the end, he didn't have to get tangled in it.
"As loathe as I am to get my hands dirty," he says with a quick, tight grin at Hanna, and oh, Hanna has no idea how loathe he is to get his hands dirty, "now is not the time for experimentation." Now that the Otherworld has fully manifested, it won't get worse until this is undone. And who knows what else might rear it's ugly head if he lets it keep going?
He shakes his head. No. Heather has not conveniently shown up to do his dirty work again and while he could go get Jacob, he's not sure Hanna would agree as readily to another person in on their little 'clean up' job. And it hadn't exactly gone swimmingly the last time.
"I'll kill you when the time comes. Suicide can interact... strangely with this ritual. As you might expect."
His mouth draws a harsh line, uncomfortable with the idea that he is essentially making him do this. That...that didn't feel great. "I'll owe you big time for this. You need anything, I'm your man. Well, within reason. I wasn't joking when I said I try not to hurt people." This was entirely fucked up and he was to blame and it frustrated him knowing he was right, if Vincent knew how to stop it, messing with the algorithm that worked shouldn't be an option right now.
"I'll give you some tips, I'm...I've got some weak points, make sure it's not so messy. Though if you do get blood on your shirt, Ulla is super great about getting that out of clothes if you ask nicely." He tries for another smile, gently patting his arm, his nice suit definitely worth preserving instead of Hanna's own bloodied sweater, the dried blood he'd been coughing into his arm stiff and scratchy against his inner elbow, "Don't want to ruin your nice duds."
He glances down at the hand on his arm and he doesn't jerk away or smile. He happens to think that knowing how to dismantle Hanna, however he might mean, is payment enough for the difficulty, at least given what Hanna knows. Hanna doesn't know and doesn't need to know about his protection, about the limit on it: that he cannot be harmed as long as he doesn't raise his hand to anyone else.
Well. Perhaps a sacrifice or two would appease his God.
...he breathes out slow.
"We can work that all out afterwards, no?"
It's one thing to rake the rube over the coals, use his frantic desperation to draw out all manner of promises, but Hanna's already offering big. One does not push here, even if there is the chance such a promise will dry up after the crisis is over.
"Now, we're going to have to go into the Fog for a moment. Stay close. I have to collect a few things."
It's a shift between one step and the next, between the world as it's become and something just as dark but foggy and isolated. Paradoxically, Vincent is there, visible, even in the fog... but he's headed straight for the gardens. He doesn't want to be here long.
"Sure." He pulls his arm back and shoves his hands in his pockets, sucking in as deep a breath as his body will allow and nods, ready for a jaunt into the fog.
He isn't sure if Vincent knows, but what he's offering is certainly more than he might, it's one of those things that currently, only his physician back home is aware of. It makes him miss Worth, which is super weird, seeing as he's a big asshole, but he doesn't let his thoughts distract him as he follows behind.
It's strange being in the fog and seeing someone else though, and he's close enough behind that if Vincent stopped, he'd run right into him. He's not scared, just tired, and disappointed with himself as he moves along. What a fucking consequence for being bored.
Vincent leads the way until the plants, the green, is visible through the fog. He's heading for a few flowers that aren't in the normal version of this garden. No, if it was this simple to get White Claudia, Vincent wouldn't have mentioned it to anyone. As it is, he's going to gather more than he needs, and at least one from the roots up.
No need to miss an opportunity.
Then-
"I should be able to use parts of the raw flower with the right adjustments. I hardly think you're in the mood to wait for distillation."
Hanna curiously watches him, wondering at the flowers he picks. He'd used similar things to fix charms, magical items back home, but his magic or magic repair wasn't really ritualistic like he's assuming Vincent's will be. Now is not the time for a biology lesson unfortunately, so he keeps his questions to himself.
"Well, I mean, if distillation took like. Thirty minutes, sure but I'm thinking it's more like a few weeks at least, yeah?"
"Sixth floor. Right next to Stolas's ridiculously gaudy door. I kept having these nightmares that he'd just come bursting in and yelling at me. Dude is kind of intimidating when he isnt being dainty." He says having heard and not seen his terrifying form manifesting for those few moments of that one fight he'd had with Blitz, but still. Demon prince was probably going to add him to some kind of shit list after this and he wasn't excited for it.
Which is a subtle little judgment on Stolas. In a way, Hanna has done him the favor of making a point to Mr. Demon Prince. He doubts Stolas will realize but amazing what his order's sigil has wrought.
Not to be focused on for the moment.
"Yes."
And in the next step, they're out of the fog as he heads back for the elevator.
Trotting after him, trying not to think about the fact that he's going to be dead in a few minutes, he sticks real close and is quieter than he ever has been during his stay.
Might be he's thinking about how fucking awful all of this has been, might be because he's nervous about what he's going to have to tell and show Vincent. Kind of flip flopping between the two.
"If I'm allowed, I will at least bring you meals while you recover." He hits the button for the elevator. "Having experienced 'death' here, it is more annoying than truly harrowing. The illness lasts about a week, but it's tolerable withing four or five days."
"Someone told me it was like having food poisoning and the flu at the same time. Did you really want to eat much when you feel like that?" He isn't sure.
He's quiet a moment longer as the doors shut and they start going down before he speaks up again. "It's not really the dying that bothers me. I was supposed to die a long time ago. I've been thinking about this like, third chance rather than second...which is still fucking weird." Why couldn't it have been his buddy instead? He'd wandered ten years after his death, didn't he deserve the chance more than he did?
"I guess. Maybe you can get me some pudding or something. That sounds kinda nice."
His hands are shoved in his pockets, pressing his fingers against the bottoms of them and rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to figure out what he wants to say.
"I dunno. A bunch of shit? Can't really pretend it's going to be normal after this. And you know that guy who got murdered a while back? Like. What say did he have in all that fucking nonsense. I read about it, don't really want to be manhandled by a bunch of strangers, or have someone change my clothes before I wake up. Maybe I should write a fuckin' will. Don't touch."
Vincent looks at him for a long moment before sighing only a little dramatically.
"I can kill you in your own bed, with a minimum of mess, as you said. If you're already in your bed, they'd hardly have reason to manhandle you. From my own experience, no one was particularly keen to meddle once I was awake. If you're that concerned, I can give instructions to your warden."
"Well, i put a lot of effort into covering my bases, so yeah. A little concerned. I mean, I've been fucking dutiful about showering at ass o' clock in the morning for two months." And he doesn't really want to show him why, but if he is giving him a kill switch, he can't just do it half way.
"Im- let's talk about this when we get to the point where it matters or it's not going to make much sense. I don't want to have to say this twice."
"That will be about when we reach your room, in case you were dreading it," he says and like a paid comedic actor, that is when the elevator dings. The doors roll open without comment.
Oh, he definitely is. He's never had to be honest about any of this shit before and starting now, because he has to, because he said he would, doesn't make it any easier.
"If this situation were any different I'd say you had a pretty healthy sense of humor," he says dryly and steps out, can see his shitty door with the 6 and the 9 hung under the 0 in a weird sort of upside down v. At least they weren't hanging on only one nail and upside down any more?
"Time to break some magic." And with Vincent behind him, he opens his door, having left it unlocked since he'd gone earlier in the off chance that he died before he could get to this point. The room has been kept mostly clean from when Hanna cleaned it last month, though scattered all around the room is dozens of sheets of paper, his original notes sitting in the tiny kitchen island that served as a table, though the book he's borrowed is stashed on the shelf just in case someone did make their way in, not looking very suspicious at all.
Without a word, Hanna rolls up the large circular rug he'd requested and reveals his handiwork, a rather masterful rendition of the Halo of the Sun on his floor in red sharpie, crisp lines and perfect swirls. For free hand and being a fucking idiot, its obvious he's good at what he does at least.
"One may doubt my 'moral fiber'" and his tone says he doubts such a thing exists, "but never doubt my sense of humor about it. After all, after a point, it's the only defense against madness, no?"
But he looks at the Halo on the ground, and Hanna can watch as he reaches down and just as he'd done in the garden, Vincent's finger seems to shift between one second and the next, like the refraction through water, and the tip lands atop a red curve.
He looks up.
"I can't fault your craftsmanship, at least. I appreciate the precision."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: Audio
"You were asking how close you needed to be to avoid harm. I didn't want you thinking the elevator would just drop out from under you without me. It's not going to happen."
Then he turns back with a terrible sort of grin.
"Probably."
He is 100% being an asshole right now.
Re: Audio
And in that case, he's going to stand awfully close because falling to his death right about now sounded like not the right course of action. "If I get sucked into a void or what ever I'm grabbing your arm whether you'd help pull me out of not." He returns, his own smile rather pathetic, what with the terrible guilt and the extended magic use taxing his whole everything. Kind of felt like standing on the edge of organ failure as his lungs labored to breathe.
Re: Audio
"A joke, only. I wouldn't play games with your safety like that. Especially given how important you will be to getting this solved, which, I believe we all want, no?"
The elevator moves and up they're going. Like any normal elevator. Everything is behaving normally for him.
Re: Audio
"Y-yeah, exactly. It's the end goal we all want and I'm here for it, every step of the way."
Re: Audio
"Of course. You know what will be required, don't you? I was going to wait to tell you but I should have realized: some things are fairly universal."
Re: Audio
"I kind of figured, yeah. That's why I came and got you, if it needed more than just the magic being severed, you could help out. You don't have to get your hands dirty though, really. I can...I can do it myself." If he did, then maybe he really could keep Vincent out of it, just say he'd fixed it all, and that'd be the end, he didn't have to get tangled in it.
cw mention of self harm
He shakes his head. No. Heather has not conveniently shown up to do his dirty work again and while he could go get Jacob, he's not sure Hanna would agree as readily to another person in on their little 'clean up' job. And it hadn't exactly gone swimmingly the last time.
"I'll kill you when the time comes. Suicide can interact... strangely with this ritual. As you might expect."
Re: cw mention of self harm
"I'll give you some tips, I'm...I've got some weak points, make sure it's not so messy. Though if you do get blood on your shirt, Ulla is super great about getting that out of clothes if you ask nicely." He tries for another smile, gently patting his arm, his nice suit definitely worth preserving instead of Hanna's own bloodied sweater, the dried blood he'd been coughing into his arm stiff and scratchy against his inner elbow, "Don't want to ruin your nice duds."
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Well. Perhaps a sacrifice or two would appease his God.
...he breathes out slow.
"We can work that all out afterwards, no?"
It's one thing to rake the rube over the coals, use his frantic desperation to draw out all manner of promises, but Hanna's already offering big. One does not push here, even if there is the chance such a promise will dry up after the crisis is over.
"Now, we're going to have to go into the Fog for a moment. Stay close. I have to collect a few things."
It's a shift between one step and the next, between the world as it's become and something just as dark but foggy and isolated. Paradoxically, Vincent is there, visible, even in the fog... but he's headed straight for the gardens. He doesn't want to be here long.
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He isn't sure if Vincent knows, but what he's offering is certainly more than he might, it's one of those things that currently, only his physician back home is aware of. It makes him miss Worth, which is super weird, seeing as he's a big asshole, but he doesn't let his thoughts distract him as he follows behind.
It's strange being in the fog and seeing someone else though, and he's close enough behind that if Vincent stopped, he'd run right into him. He's not scared, just tired, and disappointed with himself as he moves along. What a fucking consequence for being bored.
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No need to miss an opportunity.
Then-
"I should be able to use parts of the raw flower with the right adjustments. I hardly think you're in the mood to wait for distillation."
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"Well, I mean, if distillation took like. Thirty minutes, sure but I'm thinking it's more like a few weeks at least, yeah?"
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And he tilts his head towards the elevator.
"Which floor are you on?"
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"You get everything you need?"
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Which is a subtle little judgment on Stolas. In a way, Hanna has done him the favor of making a point to Mr. Demon Prince. He doubts Stolas will realize but amazing what his order's sigil has wrought.
Not to be focused on for the moment.
"Yes."
And in the next step, they're out of the fog as he heads back for the elevator.
"It won't take long. It just... has to be done."
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Trotting after him, trying not to think about the fact that he's going to be dead in a few minutes, he sticks real close and is quieter than he ever has been during his stay.
Might be he's thinking about how fucking awful all of this has been, might be because he's nervous about what he's going to have to tell and show Vincent. Kind of flip flopping between the two.
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"If I'm allowed, I will at least bring you meals while you recover." He hits the button for the elevator. "Having experienced 'death' here, it is more annoying than truly harrowing. The illness lasts about a week, but it's tolerable withing four or five days."
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He's quiet a moment longer as the doors shut and they start going down before he speaks up again. "It's not really the dying that bothers me. I was supposed to die a long time ago. I've been thinking about this like, third chance rather than second...which is still fucking weird." Why couldn't it have been his buddy instead? He'd wandered ten years after his death, didn't he deserve the chance more than he did?
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The elevator is bringing them down just as easily as it brought them up.
"Then what is bothering you?"
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His hands are shoved in his pockets, pressing his fingers against the bottoms of them and rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to figure out what he wants to say.
"I dunno. A bunch of shit? Can't really pretend it's going to be normal after this. And you know that guy who got murdered a while back? Like. What say did he have in all that fucking nonsense. I read about it, don't really want to be manhandled by a bunch of strangers, or have someone change my clothes before I wake up. Maybe I should write a fuckin' will. Don't touch."
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"I can kill you in your own bed, with a minimum of mess, as you said. If you're already in your bed, they'd hardly have reason to manhandle you. From my own experience, no one was particularly keen to meddle once I was awake. If you're that concerned, I can give instructions to your warden."
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"Im- let's talk about this when we get to the point where it matters or it's not going to make much sense. I don't want to have to say this twice."
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"If this situation were any different I'd say you had a pretty healthy sense of humor," he says dryly and steps out, can see his shitty door with the 6 and the 9 hung under the 0 in a weird sort of upside down v. At least they weren't hanging on only one nail and upside down any more?
"Time to break some magic." And with Vincent behind him, he opens his door, having left it unlocked since he'd gone earlier in the off chance that he died before he could get to this point. The room has been kept mostly clean from when Hanna cleaned it last month, though scattered all around the room is dozens of sheets of paper, his original notes sitting in the tiny kitchen island that served as a table, though the book he's borrowed is stashed on the shelf just in case someone did make their way in, not looking very suspicious at all.
Without a word, Hanna rolls up the large circular rug he'd requested and reveals his handiwork, a rather masterful rendition of the Halo of the Sun on his floor in red sharpie, crisp lines and perfect swirls. For free hand and being a fucking idiot, its obvious he's good at what he does at least.
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But he looks at the Halo on the ground, and Hanna can watch as he reaches down and just as he'd done in the garden, Vincent's finger seems to shift between one second and the next, like the refraction through water, and the tip lands atop a red curve.
He looks up.
"I can't fault your craftsmanship, at least. I appreciate the precision."
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