9489/To Speak No Word That Is Not True

To Speak No Word That Is Not True
Date of Scene:	05 January 2022
Location:	Midtown
Synopsis:	Jon tells Lydia what he's discovered about the "game" they're playing, and Lydia begins to realize Gabriel may have lied to her. They discuss death, and Lydia's vampirism.
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Lydia Dietrich
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Jonathan Sims has posed:
    As Cael and Patience both leave, Jon watches them go, gaze lingering on Cael for a little longer. Then he turns to get two more donuts and a hot dog from the food truck, stuffing it all into a bag and turning away with a sigh.

    "The last scion. The /Magdalena/. And she wants to fight alongside us. I suppose we should be grateful for small favors, but it just makes me wonder, again, why the hell She chose /me/." He murmurs it quietly, shakes his head, and pulls one of the donuts out of the bag.

    He's looking surprisingly good for a guy that nearly got eaten to death by vampires a few days ago. Not as wan as one might expect, but then Tara healed him when she got there, and probably did more after. And there's his own healing factor to consider. He seems surprisingly relaxed, given everything.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia looks more sad to see Bear go than Cael, if truth be told. She had always liked animals but ever since she turned, they either see her as a threat or something to be scared of. Except for the boys' guinea pigs, for some reason, so at least she can cuddle /them/.

Still. To the matters at hand. She grabs Jon's arm and starts dragging him off. "Okay. You. Me. Alley. Now." Once they get to the alley she realizes that she's probably squeezing a little too hard and makes a conscious effort to relax and let go of his arm.

"This /isn't/ the first universe that this has happened with?" She asks with a hiss. "How many times has Michael done this? Why has he failed so much? Hell! What is it that he's even trying to accomplish?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon's heart rate /skyrockets/ as Lydia grabs his arm and drags him into the alley; he's lucky to keep his coffee from spilling, and stares at her with wide, terrified eyes until she lets go and starts talking.

    "Good /lord/, Lydia! Don't /scare/ me like that! I almost dropped my food!" Is he really not worried about her /eating/ him? If he is, he's not advertising that.

    He takes a long gulp of coffee and then huffs out an irritated breath. "I don't know why he's failed, nor what he's trying to accomplish. Evidently that's one of the things we need to prove ourselves by /figuring out/." He rolls his eyes. "Look, I have a mole in Michael's army. I spoke to them today and they told me about this. That this isn't the first universe Michael's made, that he's tried and re-done this whole thing before. It's the first time this... /trial/ has happened, though. If not for that, if not for Gaea and Uriel intervening, we wouldn't even have a chance. Michael would just press the re-set button and that would be that."

    He raises his brows at Lydia. "Does it /matter/ how many times before? Isn't once enough? Or the fact that that evidently happens out there /all the time/? A universe 'fails' and it just... gets re-made by its particular set of archangels?" He takes a large bite of the donut. He's still bringing his blood count back up.

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"Sorry," Lydia says, holding up her hands contritely. "Sorry. I... forget my own strength. Still getting used to it." She takes a step back to give the man his space and reaches across her chest to hang onto an arm.

"I was given to understand that when a universe fails it just... fails," she says. "It doesn't turn into a vampire universe. We were..." she shakes her head and bites her lip. "I guess it doesn't matter in the end. Michael keeps trying to do /something/ and it keeps /failing/."

"Why doesn't Michael just reset the universe then? What's holding him back? Is he abiding by some kind of pact that Uriel and Gaea made? Were they around for his previous attempts?" Her mind is awhirl with so many questions, most of which is revolving around why are /they/ being given a chance and not the previous ones? If there was a chance for salvation why hadn't God given them that opportunity?

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon nods as he chews on his bite of donut, and once he's swallowed and washed it down with more coffee, he says, "Gaea petitioned to give this iteration a chance, and Uriel got Michael to agree to the terms of this game. We figure out how to stop him by Easter... or he re-sets the universe."

    He hesitates, then says, "We, ahh... we went to the Garden, to speak to Gaea. Zatanna, Atrun, Phoebe, Meggan, and I. She's... really quite delightful." He smiles brightly. "Funny, and less formal than I thought She'd be. A young mother, concerned for Her children." His voice sounds... fond. "That's where we learned the bits we didn't have before. Well. Besides the piece I got from... my mole, earlier."

    He sighs, and goes to lean against one wall of the alley, crosses his legs at the ankles. "There's a /lot/ more going on here than we know about. Uriel's got some sort of plan he's hiding from the rest, Gaea all but condoned me breaking the rules of the game and trying to figure out how to come back from the dead..." He shakes his head. "There is only so much one can learn about a patient from files or passive observation. I think we need to jump in and interact, as it were, to figure this out."

    He frowns. "Not that Michael's a /patient/ per se, but... the metaphor stands."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"Game?" Lydia asks with a quirk of an eyebrow. This is the first she's heard it called that. 'Trial,' sure. 'Test,' of course. But 'game?' "Calling it a game gives it an air of casualness that I don't particularly like," she says, harshly. Perhaps too harshly.

She sighs and takes a step back to soften her words, "I think I would have liked to have met Her. Though, I admit, that I don't know how well received a vampire would be in Her presence."

She nods in agreement. "Yeah. I've had thoughts of flying up there and just... /talking/ to him, you know? Violence is a last resort kind of thing for me. I just want to talk to him. Show him the good parts. Remind him that this creation isn't all failure." A chuckle escapes her lips, "But let's be real. He's more likely to vaporize me on sight than talk to me because I was the architect of his binding."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "Games can be deadly serious. There are cultures that developed sports as a substitute for war--Cherokee stickball, the ancestor of lacrosse, comes to mind. There are tales of people playing dice games or chess with Death--though I hear that's apocryphal." He smirks. "Don't discount a 'game'--this is in the same spirit as stickball. The rules are set, the game is played, with the agreement beforehand that the winning party wins the dispute."

    He shakes his head. "People keep saying that, but... look, to whatever degree Michael thinks like we do--and I have to believe he does, to /some/ degree, or my 'make a psych profile' plan would not be 'the right track'--you and everyone else has to understand that it's often not as /simple/ as just presenting /your/ view. Yes, you and I see a beautiful universe full of joy and love--but what does Michael see? We have to understand him before we'll know what argument will work. I mean... he can /see/ the good parts, alongside the bad, and he's decided to reform it anyhow. Playing a beautiful aria or showing him a smiling baby isn't the way out of this, or he wouldn't be doing it in the first place."

    He frowns and chews on another bite of donut for a moment before he goes on, "Cael went to Fairchild, trying to do the same sort of thing--give her proof that Michael is bad. It backfired, which... is a known psychological effect. Sometimes, giving someone information that contradicts their beliefs merely makes them cling to those beliefs all the harder." He heaves a sigh. "That's why I say we need to see him in action first. Get his measure, prod at him some, figure out what makes him tick. Understand what he's after, and what arguments might work."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"I know," Lydia says. "It's just that there's... sport involved. I don't know how to articulate this. It gives everything a different context. If it's a game, then there are rules, as you said. Do we even know what the rules /are/? Or are we left playing this blind? Are we participants or merely pawns?" The surety of her faith, once bolstered by Gabriel revealing the truth is starting to crumble when she realizes that the archangel wasn't as forthcoming as she had originally thought.

She nods along as Jon talks about her intent. "I know it wouldn't be that simple," she says. "I still wanted to /try/. It still /means/ something to extend an olive branch even though you know they'll never take it." She hugs herself, then. "I don't /like/ fighting. You've seen what it does to me." She lets out a rueful chuckle, "Some vampire I turned out to be."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "We have to fight," Jon says, dark eyes quite serious. "I have to die. I presume someone else is supposed to /defeat/ Michael." He shrugs. "I intend to break the rules, myself, and not /stay/ dead. I... thought that might be what happened the other night, actually. The Irappu, they intended to turn me, evidently." He shudders. "I'm just as glad that they didn't. But..."

    He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I don't think we're the players. I think we're the /pieces/. Gaea's not happy about that, and she all but told me to cheat. Does that mean Michael's cheating? /Can/ Michael cheat? I... don't know. But... I met Ma'at, and she showed me how heavy my heart was. Gave me a chance to rectify that. Gaea wants us to win--and not just that, but to /thrive/. I trust Her. I..." He laughs. "I have /faith/ in Her."

    He reaches into the bag to pull out his hot dog. Protein is important, too. "I fully intend to offer to parley with Michael. You probably could, too, if you wanted--the Atlantean talked to him, after all. And... I /did/ take on your punishment for you. Michael may have forgiven you, for the binding. We'll have to see. Maybe... maybe there'll be a chance to talk. I suppose we'll have to see."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"They /WHAT/?" Lydia demands, eyes glowing red with anger her motes of ectoplasm whirling around agitatedly. "Those... fucking... vampire /scum/. A scourge of the earth! I swear to God, Jon, if we still exist by the time this is over I'm going to go murder a bitch."

She stomps around the alley for a few laps to calm herself down enough to listen to the rest of what Jon has to say, though what he has to say doesn't help much, really. "It figures we'd be the pieces. I'm not entirely surprised though. At least with me. After all, I /did/ get a personal meet and greet with Gabriel, though he /did/ leave out a few important details. I wish I knew what my part in all this was, but all I got out of him was 'compassion and balance,' and 'help Jon,' so I guess I get to be your official cheerleader." Ebony pompoms form in her hands and she shakes them and gives Jon one of those fake cheerleader smiles, "GooooooOOOOO TEAM!"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Fuck that," Jon says in irritation. "You're nobody's /cheerleader/, Lydia, and if that's all the archangels can see for you then fuck that and fuck them." He shakes his head. "I... I'm sick of... this feeling like we're just being /used/. I mean... how /dare/ they set me up to die? Set /anyone/ up to die? How dare they manipulate us, lie to us--even if by omission--and then presume to judge us? So they made us--so what? Power doesn't make one right, and parents should nurture their children, care for them, not /use/ them."

    A long, deep breath. "I want to turn over the table. I want to say 'no, I won't play your stupid game.' But if we don't play, we lose by default--so I am going to figure out how to change the rules and so should you. So should /everyone/. We shouldn't just accept what they're thrusting on us. Call Gabriel back, demand proper answers. Something deeper is going on here, something we can't see yet, but I'd bet my chance of surviving this on the problem being the absentee Parent upstairs." He gestures toward the sky. "I have a /mole/ in Michael's camp, Lydia. An angel /spy/, and not a Fallen. Gaea all but told me to cheat. Something's in disarray up there, badly."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"Some free will, hunh?" Lydia says with a sardonic smile. "You're free to choose, but the choice is cake or death. That's what /Michael/ sees as a problem. We have too much free will, and here we are, game pieces, where we get to act like we have free will, but really it's just a matter of cake or death. How can we /cheat/ if we don't even know what the rules /are/?"

She flails about in frustration on the spot and concludes, "When you die, Jon, I will be first in line to storm the gates of Duat to get you back."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "The illusion of choice," Jon says with a wry smile. "They'll let us choose which /type/ of cake we want--but if you want ice cream or a hot dog... no." He shakes his head. "I intend to go along and figure this out long enough to know how to subvert it, and in the meantime... well. You won't need to storm the gates of Duat if I can figure out how to get out. Gaea gave me a hint, I'm just... thinking it through."

    He's finished off his hot dog, and there's one last donut left. He stares into the bag at it, and the question slips out before he really means it to.

    "What was it like? Dying?"

    Then he blinks and looks up. "I... shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia is silent at that question, staring at her shoes. "No, it's okay. It.. I'm surprised you're the first person to ever ask me that. My girlfriend and my friends always kind of tiptoe around the subject. They're always so careful when my vampirism comes up. My death still bothers them. I feel like it should bother me, too, but..." she shrugs helplessly, "I am what I am. I think there's something about becoming a vampire that made it all a bit more acceptable."

She lets out a sigh and leans against the brick wall of the alleyway. "I think death is different for everybody. Mine was slow and violent. Bhanavi, the leader of the Irappu, had kidnapped me, much like you, with the intent of making me one of them. She had already drained me dry by the time Hatshepsut, Mystique, and Clarice got to me. Somehow I managed to stay conscious just long enough to see them come for me."

"I was... happy, in a way," she recalls, her voice quiet, "that the last thing I saw were the people who meant the most to me. When she was draining me I was so afraid that my last living memory would be of her, that I would come back as her puppet. 'You came.' Those were the last words I said. I was relieved."

"Death itself is a peaceful thing," she muses. "I don't remember the details of when I was dead. Not many people do, but I remember being at peace. Then the blood came, and with it, life, and with it... /everything/."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns, looking down at the bag. Toying with it a little. "They were trying to get information out of me. About Raul Bushman. They... took their time. Feeding. Using the pain and the... pleasure to try to wear down my will, I think." He shudders, and reaches up a hand to press it to the side of his neck, where Lydia surely knows there's one of those good feeding spots. He's been wearing turtlenecks ever since the vampires took him. "They cut me off from the Astral Plane. From my magic." His heart beats faster just thinking about that. Panic, at realizing how much he depended on his magic, on his ancestors. "They... one of them, she... pushed her way into my head..."

    He stops. Swallows. "Gods," he whispers. "Gods, I've been trying to forget it even happened." He closes his eyes, and shakes his head.

    "I was so sure I was going to die," he says, a little louder. "I didn't really care about keeping what I knew about Bushman from them--I just figured it would give you all more time to find me. I knew Marc was coming, but... the moon was dark, the call would take time. And I just had to... hold on. But then..." He shrugs. "I couldn't fight anymore. And I wasn't certain what the point even was."

    He frowns. "They shouldn't avoid the subject." He looks up at Lydia, finally. "I mean, you feed off them, right? You feed off of them, and they won't even let you... process what happened. Even if it /wasn't/ traumatic, it's a big change. And it sounds like... it was. Traumatic, I mean. It... certainly would have been, for me."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
So much of what Jon went through with the Irappu echoes that of Lydia's own experience that she can help but snake an arm around his shoulders and squeezes him in a hug. "I'm sorry that you experienced feeding... that way." She says. "It can be gentle, and pleasant. My... donors look forward to it when it's their turn. When we feed we can control it," she says. "How much it hurts, or how pleasurable it is. If they wanted to it wouldn't have hurt more than a pinch. It's... an intimate experience, both for me and the donor and to use it as a weapon is unconscionable."

She looks up and gives him a lopsided grin. "I tell you this so you know if... there ever comes a time where I need to feed on you... it won't be like what you experienced." She lets out a sigh and looks at the bright star. "In the coming conflict I might get to the point where I need to... you know. If I get badly hurt I can heal, but it takes blood to do it."

"Like I told you before, Raven blames herself for making the decision to turn me, and Clarice is afraid of me. Not so much now but... They were already hurting so much. I couldn't add my hurt onto theirs."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon chuckles softly and leans into the hug. "I don't think I'd mind if... it didn't /hurt/ at first. I mean... I heal fast even aside from magic, I'm probably a better choice as a donor than a lot of other people. And who knows, my blood's magical, maybe it'd be... bolstering somehow?"

    He sighs, and pulls out the last donut. "That's why I'm eating so much," he clarifies, waggling the donut. "Maybe it's entirely psychological, but it feels like I /ought/ to be, in order to help replace the blood I lost. So..." He shrugs.

    "I had a vision, when I was close to death. I met Anubis and Ma'at, in the Duat. They weighed my heart." He presses briefly on his chest. "Heavier than Ma'at's feather--and her feathers are /heavy/. Not because I've done terrible things... but because I've been lying to people. About my gender, yes, but... other things too. I keep trying to present a strong front. Pretend I'm okay, when I'm not, that I'm not scared when I am. And not just in a dangerous moment, but /all the time/. Ma'at said to me... 'Wouldn't it be better for you to walk the journey to that point honest with yourself and with those who look to you? Presenting them with a false image: one without fear, without pain, is simply setting them up for disappointment when you ultimately fall. If you show them that you are just as mortal as they, them they can rally *with* you and perhaps you prolong your journey together for a time.'"

    He looks to Lydia. "So many people I know are going through the same thing. Hurting, aching, and not reaching out because someone else is hurting too. Not reaching out to /anyone/. I mean, to be frank--/you're/ the one who died. Your friends and lover should be supporting /you/, and finding /their/ support elsewhere." He arches a brow. "But regardless... you /all/ need support. It isn't right, to pretend to be okay, to bottle up your emotions, because you think people need you to be strong all the time. Everyone needs that. Even doctors go to the doctor; even therapists have therapists."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
"That's why I'm your cheerleader," Lydia says softly, as she leans back on him. She's silent as she reflects on what Jon has said. "I know I haven't really processed it yet," she says, finally. "I've... put it in a box and promised that I'd take it out eventually when things die down to properly grieve. Can you even do that? Grieve over your own death?"

"I think I was close to getting to that box but then Michael happened and... and things just started happening, and they haven't stopped happening, and they're just going to keep on happening until this is all over."

She chews on her lower lip, the tip of a fang catching it slightly. "I wonder how heavy my heart is," she says sounding... small. "I do it too, you know. Showing them somebody who's self assured, and confident, who definitely /isn't/ hurting inside and is comfortable with what she's become. I do my best to pretend, and I think I'm doing a good job of it. I try my best to act human enough for people to forget what I really am... enough so that /I/ forget what I really am."

"I'm not human anymore, Jon. I fill my spaces with people and noise so I can forget because it's the silence when I'm by myself that makes me remember." She looks up at her friend and gives him a weak smile. "You never realize how much /noise/ your body makes until it stops making them at all."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "There's never going to be a 'right time' to handle this," Jon says, peering down at Lydia. "Trust me--I've been doing this work for years, and I hear it over and over. 'I was putting it away until I found the right time, until things died down'... and then almost inevitably there's a break, a crack, and they're /forced/ into my office. The ones who came willingly do a lot better, in the end."

    He sighs. "I've never been putting things away for the right time--I've just been /scared/. Afraid that people would leave if they thought I was weak, or that they'd fall apart if I wasn't strong for them. I mean... I /made sure/ to get a therapist /now/ because this is the time when everything's going to hell. /Right now/ is when I need the support the most, not after it's over. Do you wait until after you're done being sick to go to the doctor?"

    He frowns thoughtfully. "...What can I do to help? I see you as a /person/ the same way I see every sapient being as a /person/. Your being human, or not, doesn't matter to me. Is there some way I can... help you process? Help you be more human, or... help you accept being /less/ human? I... wonder if it might help. Not to embrace the predator inside, necessarily, but to... accept that you're not what you were. To have someone around whom you don't have to breath and blink, who can accept that you're dead and came back." He chuckles. "Offer you blood instead of tea at the door, perhaps? I don't know. I can't say--that's up to you. Would it help, to know you can be a good person, and have friends, even if you don't seem human? Or would it only fuel whatever hunger drives the Irappu?"

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
The truth hurts. Her heart /twists/ as Jon tells her something she already knows. There's never going to be a right time. She turns utterly still as she looks deep within herself. Eerily so. It's a slip that happens when she's so focused on her inner thoughts that she forgets to pretend to be human. It's like she was just turned *off*.

After a while she ventures, "I don't know. Is it bad that I feel like I'm betraying Raven by talking to you about this instead of her? Is it bad that I think the only reason why you're offering this to me, right now, is so you don't have to talk about your own issues with me?" She looks up at him, hurt in her eyes, "Is it bad that I find the way you smell so /delicious/?"

"That's part of it," she admits, looking back down. "I still enjoy tea, and fig newtons, and Manhattans and milkshakes. But it's like.... an aesthetic kind of enjoyment. Like going to a museum and enjoying the heavy brush work of a Van Gough. It's not /satisfying/ the way food used to be. A good pot roast smells pleasant the same way a warm summer breeze off the ocean does."

"You know what does that for me? /People./ I'm /surrounded/ by a buffet... a living, breathing, /sentient/ buffet." She screws her face tight trying to keep the tears from what she's about to say next from falling. "Is it wrong of me to enjoy it?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon blinks down at Lydia for a moment. "You know," he says softly, "it's funny. I was so /terrified/ of you before, on some level, but now that I've been through it... the fact that you see me as food...?" He shrugs a shoulder. "It is what you are. I smell delicious... but you'd never take my blood without my consent."

    He laughs. "And... I know /precisely/ what you mean. I look at people, /anyone/, and I understand them aesthetically, but whatever it is, whatever switch that needs to be flipped in the brain, to want to have sex with them?" He shrugs. "It never got flipped, for me. I can enjoy it, but it doesn't... /satisfy/. Not the way a pot roast would." He smiles. "So I think I understand. If curry suddenly didn't give that satisfaction... if I could just... live without it, the way I can sex? How odd would /that/ be?"

    He wraps an arm around Lydia, to pull her closer. Sighs. "But I'm aware, all the time, that people look at me and think of me in a way I don't understand, at all. Maybe that's why you can talk to me about it, and not Raven, because I understand. Maybe because I'm your friend." He grins at her. "And, lord, I'm not /avoiding/ my issues. I'm facing them, if anything. You're my friend, and you're a vampire. Gabriel wants you to be my cheerleader--and I refuse to have a cheerleader. Friends help each other. You've listened to my problems--I'm allowed to offer to listen to yours. Particularly when I can tell how /upset/ all this is making you."

    He sighs. "It's not wrong to enjoy being what you are. Not if you're not hurting anyone. We should be accepting you as you are. So perhaps I /will/ start offering my blood. Maybe it makes a potential frenzy less likely to be terrible, if I'm around, because I know what it'll be like."

Lydia Dietrich has posed:
Lydia looks mildly surprised. "You were terrified of me? I thought we had met before I had been turned." She shakes her head. "I shouldn't be so constantly surprised that people are frightened of me for being a vampire. Back when I glowed green and was just a mutant? I'd get that all the time. Mothers would hide their children behind them at the sight of me. People would cross the other side of the street. I was used to it then, so why does it bother me so much now?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon sighs. "Because it reminds you that you changed. You were born a mutant... but you /became/ a vampire." He squeezes her and then steps away. "I think you should speak to Raven, and Clarice. Tell them your truth, before things potentially end. And if they don't... /when/ they don't... you'll be the better for it."

    He smiles. "I need to be getting home... it's a long way, and I need to be up before dawn. I mean it, about offering blood--but not here. Remind me to tell you how I see you, sometime. Your aura. But... another time. We've work to do, tomorrow."