forgethertoo | [[half interlude/half open post + entropy manipulation: a fatalistic warning]]

FOR EVERYONE

Aornis is mildly irritated. For all everyone in this place talks about fresh starts and second chances, she doles out some measly nightmares and eradicates a few non-essential memories and all of a sudden, everyone is acting as though they've discovered a grand villainous conspiracy. It's irritating because she should feel flattered that she's caused this much trouble with so little action. After all, she can sense it. Every mention, every ping.

The problem is, the current situation doesn't feel evil enough. Would her brother Acheron be proud of her for what she's done so far? No. It's not quite as bad as her brother Styx's "evil deeds" but it all feels rather pathetic. She's well aware that she's the villain of this place, in terms of the narrative. That particular narrative intent is so strong, it's nearly hitting her over the head with it. Although she can't tell who the hero is supposed to be, it is perhaps time to fully step into that role. She is a Hades, after all.

At the moment, she's debating her options. She could just wipe everyone's memory and start fresh. That would be the easiest way to handle this situation. It's a distinct possibility. There's a slight issue with that plan... but she's taking care of it. Aornis is currently rolling over these issues with a Moscow mule somewhere public, if anybody would like to speak with her...

FOR SOMEONE IN PARTICULAR

It's a small coincidence. Very small in the grand scheme of things. In a hallway off to the side of the main area of the mansion, a sheet of paper sits on the floor, undiscovered and unnoticed up until now. Perhaps it was dropped by Susan and Lancelot when they were moving the boxes of papers inside. It's an application for a library card; very nondescript in nature. Name (William Jones), DOB (January 13th), Sex (M), City and State (Boston, MA). The rest is blank as if whoever started filling it out had been interrupted.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I have four brothers," Aornis says, and there's a hint of genuine fondness in her voice. "Unfortunately, one is no longer with us. He was murdered about a year before I arrived here."

"Murdered! I'm sorry for your loss," says Laertes immediately. "He sounds as though he was dear to your heart."

"He was. Acheron was my role model in many ways." She pauses for a small beat. "I'm sorry for your loss as well."

Didst know there would be loss, he tells himself sternly. Didst know that thy story was a tragedy. But there's a white-hot horror in him at hearing it spoken--in knowing what none have been willing to say, that his life is not the only one forfeit. He wants to hear the name spoken aloud. He wants never to know.

He wants to be sick.

"It must eat thee up, to be here and unable to answer it," he says thickly. "Even after a year--it must be a howling void in thee."

Aornis clocks his expression and the tone of his voice. There's a slight frown on her face. "I saw him briefly when we had visitors," she says, attempting to sound casual but actually failing to in this moment, mingling sadness -- and yes, rage -- flickering in for a split second. Acheron understood her. He had always been there for her. He had comforted her during grade school, when she came home crying because all of her friends had forgotten her. After he died, she mourned for an entire week, and then she knew what needed to be done. She had almost succeeded.

"He came to thee from the land of death?" Hope flickers in his gaze.

"And then was pulled back to it, I'd assume. Cruel, don't you think?" Aornis asks. For a split second - only noticeable if you were looking for it hello Claudius - Aornis cocks her head just the slightest fraction.

"It is cruel," says Laertes. He hadn't thought of it in that light, before--how Lucien's friends had been brought to life again for a visit, but not to stay. He'd pinned all his hopes on their return ... but why did they have to return to Death's country at all? Why not let them stay? If whatever spirits govern this place have the power to snatch those they love from Death's icy hands, then to return them there again is cruelty. "Perhaps he'll return to thee again. Other visitors have--Magnus's Alex has come back again."

"Perhaps. I think he'd enjoy it here," Aornis says, with a small smile. Her words are plainly spoken and it is just an ordinary quirk of the lips -- nothing more to it -- but there's a sense of extra depth of meaning to it.

"Oh? Why so?" Laertes asks; the implication is very clearly because you obviously don't enjoy it here at all.

"He's a people person."

"See," says Laertes with some cheer. "Already thou speakest as though he yet lives."

"So I am," she says dryly. "I suppose it's good to have a little hope."

"Whatever else we're poor in, during this dark season, we're rich in hope," says Laertes. "Hast thou any other hopes, beyond a return to thy home and justice for thy brother?"

"A trip to Ibiza?" Aornis suggests, with a touch of humor.

Laertes has to rifle through his memory for the name--there had been some business with Norway there during a crusade, centuries ago, but he can remember nothing beyond that. It's lost, like Andorra. "That sounds fine indeed," says Laertes. "I little mind the cold, but after this endless winter, I crave sunlight and the scent of the sea."

"It's both mentally and physically taxing," Aornis agrees.

"Ay, I've heard many accounts of restless sleep and harrowing dreams," says Laertes.

"Have you spoken with Lan Wangji at all? I mentioned my nightmares briefly and he told me to let him know if I heard of any others having the same issue."

"I haven't, but I will. Did he offer thee any remedies?"

"He gave me a warning."

"What warning?"

"He mentioned another resident that I should be wary of... but I don't want to be one to spread rumors."

"I think I know whom thou meanest," says Laertes, and a dark frown clouds his face. He seems to struggle for a moment, his own discretion warring with a desire for answers--but discretion loses the fight. "Hast thou met him? Does he--thou art a constable; thou wouldst have a sense of ill intent. Does he seem the kind of man who would trouble dreams for sport?"

“I’ve spoken with him a few times. Let’s just say that every narrative has a villain and leave it at that,” Aornis says brusquely, though her tone immediately lifts. “—but I’m taking up your time with nonsense and suspicions. If you came here with a particular task in mind, I’d hate to keep you from it.”

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