Drez's Home
He's not the man you knew, Drezda, how many times...
The diplomat didn't know how many times she'd have to remind herself that the galdor in her parlour was a veritable stranger in spite of his all too familiar face. How long before she could see him as him without seeing him, the Anatole of before? Maybe if she closed her eyes... But no, the voice was still his even if it was changed, the way he spoke not quite as it had been. His choice of words was different and there was nothing like a snigger behind it.
The Incumbent had always been a smarmy bastard, saying all the right things but never meaning them, never really paying attention to them when there was a woman to be ogled. This one gave a damn and wanted to explain and justify.
If she kept thinking of pre-backlash Anatole and post-backlash Anatole as two different people than the young woman might very well tie her own mental processes in knots but how could she not? The differences were so vast, it was like... saying herself and Diaxio (that clocking bitch!) were the same person because they looked similar, their Hoxian similarities enough to make them identical. This was a new Anatole, a very different one and she almost wished that she had another name for him. Maybe the old one could be Incumbent Vauquelin and the new one Anatole. Yes, that might be easier. She'd never been familiar with him before so this first name basis thing was quite new.
She'd given Anatole plenty to think about and given herself plenty to dwell upon as well, mainly because she hadn't thought about some of these matters for some time. The Cycle and repercussions of choices, all manner of things that her mother had muttered to herself when she'd finally confronted her properly about Tsia. Originally, Ksjita had said that Tsia's "death" was her fault but so much more detail had come out of her when Drezda had finally gotten her to admit to her younger sibling's passivity. But even then so much of what she'd said hadn't made sense. So much said about not doing her duty, not being a vessel as she should have been and how it was her own selfishness that had done it. Hungry ghosts needed to be fed.
Her mother came out with some very odd things sometimes but then she was originally Hexxos and a poetess as well so it made sense that she was a mixture of morbid and weirdly dramatic. Still she'd rubbed off on her daughter in peculiar ways, not moulding her thinking in a large way but still having some influence as in this case. The ripple effect, the matter of Cyclic causality was something she'd gotten from Ksjta and it was oddly satisfying to watch Anatole place a finger in his cup, presumably creating a visual of it for himself. The woman gave a curt nod at his mention of the Six Kingdoms.
Yes, it was very strange to think that the action of one could ripple quite so far but in theory it was possible. Everything was connected. An odd series of events had brought them together in this moment after all so why was anything on a grander scale strange?
"We worship the Circle but we also believe in connectivity. We aren't... we aren't Vitanists but I suppose we look at things a bit different than most galdori," she explained, the mention of the other, largely human religion hushed and almost taboo from her mouth. She knew that there were similarities but... they weren't the same.
Lips pursed, brows furrowed, she listened to him speak so passionately about his desire for culpability. It made her uncomfortable, raven-haired woman fidgeting. She'd done some nasty things in her time, she wasn't innocent but she wouldn't want to do something that made others suffer, especially those who in no way deserved it.
The lower races didn't count. They were... well, they weren't innocent. Some were like children, some like beasts. In Anaxas, they were theoretically kept underfoot for their own good but in Hox their way was better; just keep them at arm's length. They didn't make them suffer, they weren't bad to them. It was more... galdori suffering that she was concerned about.
"Would you really want- Would you really want your descendants to suffer? I suppose you might never know them but..." she trailed off, watching him closely, onyx eyes fixated on him. They widened considerably at the mention of the phasmonia and the oddly... specific ghost.
Her brow rose, managing a dry almost deadpan tone in spite of her clear surprise as she asked, "Know one personally, do you?" She managed a smile, lips thin and twitching - nervous.
Quite specific.
It wasn't that she didn't believe in ghosts. She didn't necessarily believe them either though. It was an odd grey area that was a mixture of superstition and uncanny possibility. She squirmed a little more. "I'm... Well, I've not spent as much time with the dead as my mother. I'm not... well, I don't visit phasmonia often. I also don't have-"
She cut off abruptly, teeth catching her lip.
She'd almost said that she didn't have any family that had died. Officially, that wasn't true. Officially, Tsia was dead but in reality... well, Drezda knew that she was in Frecksat. She hadn't seen her while she was there but she knew she was there. She knew that her little sister wasn't dead.
Her gaze dropped, the barest wobble in her lip before she took a deep breath in and exhaled it. She laughed, a slightly bitter sound but self-deprecating as well.
"You don't know what you're talking about? Look at the path of conversation I've dragged us down and that's not exactly relevant to- Well, it doesn't seem pertinent, it's not. Circle strike me, I've invited you over for the most uncomfortable and morbid conversation ever, haven't I?"
The laugh came again, neatly trimmed nails picking at imaginary lint on the skirt of her dress as she looked down. "I don't know, Anatole. I don't know which it's meant to follow. It's the kind of thing that my mother could probably answer. I think she's written quite a lot of poetry about souls and death and that but I've only read a little, I don't really- It isn't really my thing and I can't read most of it anyway because it's in Deftung. She's good at it, I'll grant you that, I have a book of her poetry somewhere if you want an insight into Hoxian religion but matters of the soul? Those... aren't something I have answers for. I couldn't even begin..."
She trailed off with a sigh, shaking her head.
"Honestly, I don't want to talk about it either," Drezda explained, gaze flicking up, fixing on the Incumbent's face. "Your headache though, can I... is there anything I can do? Is it... is it because of..."
Don't presume it's a hangover, Drezda. You've seen him drink a little over eagerly but that was one time. He's not you. He isn't...
"I get headaches sometimes and... well, it's a bit strange but I find that... alcohol... sometimes helps. Sometimes. If you wanted to try that," she offered huskily, her own mouth suddenly seeming unbelievably parched at the mere mention of it, tongue seeking to wet newly dry lips, trying to find any moisture anywhere. Her face warmed but she didn't think the blush would show through, hoped it wouldn't.
"I know it's early yet but... it'd be medicinal."