Summary:Illyana and Jason meet up again so Illyana can see what might have followed Jason out of the grave. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Illyana Rasputina isn't great with technology, but she's managed to do alright with modern phones. She *does* tend to break them a lot, mostly as they freak out going through Limbo. Guess the sensitive electronics don't like the demonic energies.
The blonde sorceress has commandeered one of the locations that she's considering for this. A spooky old building wedged in tight between a pair of remodeled, expensive looking buildings over in Brooklyn. The door is unlocked and the place looks abandoned. It's got a dimensional weakness that most people can't feel but that occasionally lets Weird Shit (tm) in from other places.
Inside, there's dust covers on all the furniture, and it could really use some cleaning. In the center of the living room there's a round table with a pair of chairs. On the table's bare surface is an unlit candle and Illyana is currently pulling an old mirror out of its wood frame.
It's been awhile since a beautiful girl has invited him to a spooky house.
Jason arrives in his civvie gear, of course. Tight jeans, boots, old Smashing Pumkins shirt, Padres cap and leather jacket. The sound of his '66 Mustang roaring up outside can be heard a few moments before he makes his way inside. He plucks off his cap and brushes his fingers back through his hair, peering about.
"Illyana?," he calls out. Soon enough he makes his way into the room she is in, and he flashes her a lopsided grin. "Not exactly the kind of place you expect for a first date, but I'll take it," he states.
Illyana Rasputina is dressed much as she was the other night, in lots of black leather to look metal af, but also laced with silver accents and jewelry to come off a bit more goth. The blonde tosses the wood she's pulled lose off to the side and works on getting the mirror to stand on-end, facing the unlit candle.
"I don't really 'date', so I can't say much about the setting myself." The blonde says, just a tad distracted as she gets the mirror to settle how she wants it and is reasonably sure it won't fall over. Only then does her pale gaze that seems so cold and empty flick up towards him. "I tend to creep people out too much." She notes with a smirk. He Has Been Warned.
Illyana gestures to the seat opposite her at the table. "So lemme ask you this. How much do you want to know about what I'm doing?" Because maybe he's just here for a pretty face. Then her smirk widens a bit into something that shows teeth a bit too aggressively to be properly called a 'grin'. "And do you even believe me?"
"I've never really dated, either. But…hanging out with someone you find attractive with hopes of doing more then just hanging out?" Jason makes his way over to the chair she has gestured to. "Pretty sure that's the definition of a date." He slides down into it and lounges back, getting comfortable as he watches her. "I died and was brought back to life," he says after a moment.
"After something like that I'd be crazy not to believe in the supernatural. It's just not something I'm great at dealing with. I'm good at putting down mundane or super-threats, not…demons and ghosts and stuff."
"I've found different people define it differently." Illyana says as she takes the seat opposite him. The mirror is between them, but without its frame and backing it's quasi see-through. So looking through it from Jason's side gets the fuzzy image of Illyana with his own superimposed over. "And it's come up a *lot* during my time trying to figure the social conventions of people out." Which… makes her sound like she's not 'people'.
"How long were you dead?" Illyana asks the question so casually. "And do you remember anything from the other side?" A snap of her finger and the candle lights between Jason and the mirror, and the chalked lines on the floor in an elaborate circle of protection start to glow faintly.
"Demons are often just strong and tough. A ghost being incorporeal can be rough to handle if you're purely normal." Illyana notes.
"Four years, and there was no 'other side' as far as I can remember. I was just…well…it was like when you sleep and don't remember your dreams. Except it's like if when you woke up you were buried in your coffin…" Jason trails off and watches her through the mirror, shrugging.
"Well, fair. I could probably take a demon, then. Gives me a chance to use live ammo again, at least." The man chuckles and loops an arm over the back of the chair.
The answer Jason gives gets a frown from Illyana. Four years is a long time to be dead. She leans around the mirrored glass, looking him over. "And no signs of decay?" There wasn't any that she could see, but he's been fully clothed both times.
The bit about live ammo gets an amused smirk. "Been having to forgo it? Lemme guess. Heroing, right?" Because the X-Men have that too. No killing.
Moving back behind the mirror, she lifts her hands and starts to move them. Eldritch fire, white somehow edged in black follow them and complicated symbols start to form in the mirror's glass.
He shrugs and glances down at himself. "Nope. Fully alive. Everything works just fine, too." Jason chuckles and nods to that. "Heroing. It's complicated. When I came back I…" Jason shakes his head, really not wanting to get into it.
He arches an eyebrow as she begins to do her thing. "Uh…what're you doing?," he asks.
Illyana Rasputina gives a soft snort at his choice of phrasing, her tone dry. "I see. Has a doctor looked at you since you came back?" For some people, that would be like the first thing they did. Others, something they'd avoid at all costs.
Illyana doesn't stop her spellcasting, layer upon layer of symbols building something incredibly complex, held suspended in the glass. Some of the symbols don't seem to want to be looked at, twisting and changing if he focuses on them. "I told you, I wanted to get a look at your soul."
Both hands push out then, towards him. Thumbs and forefingers extended and the others folded down. There's a rush of energy more felt than seen and the glass flares brightly. When the light dies down, the symbols are gone but the glass itself seems to glow. It's also hanging a half-inch off the table. Jason can't see through it anymore. It looks like a normal mirror, reflecting back the flame and his own reflection.
"Are you afraid I'll judge you for what you did when you came back?" Jason can't see her face anymore, just the edges of her around the mirrored glass. Looking towards her voice has him staring at himself. "Or are you afraid to remember those moments?"
"DOctors have, yeah. Both mundane and magically gifted," Jason grunts. "The group that picked me up when I got back is…pretty mystical." His tone is not a happy one when he mentions whoever they are. The man sits there as she weaves her magic, watching it all curiously.
He shivers at the rush of energy. "I remember them very well. Every single one of them. Every one of six hundred and sixty five deaths."
Illyana Rasputina is quiet and still, hidden behind that glowing glass and Jason is left to stare at himself for a long moment. When she finally moves, he can hear the creak of the leather she wears and the whisper of her hair as she stands up. She touches the top of the pane of glass with a fingertip and his reflection freezes, like it's become a picture instead.
Illyana lean/sits on the edge of the table, crossing one leg over the other. She's close enough that her leg brushes his. It certainly puts her in Jason's personal space. The personal space of someone who just confessed to killing *hundreds* of people. "One shy of the mythical 'number of the beast'." She observes in a soft murmur. "What stopped you right there?"
He turns to watch her as she rises. He furrows his brow, watching her when she takes her seat and her leg lightly brushes his. He isn't quite sure what just happened or what is going to happen next. He is out of his depth and he knows it.
"Batman stopped me there," he says after a long, silent moment. "Took him six months to finally track me down and put me down. He put me into rehab. He knew I…wasn't myself. I escaped and fled to Europe. FIxed myself…"
"I'd worry that it was linked to some large, dark ritual but…" A nudge of her finger and it rotates on its long axis so that now he's seeing the back of the mirror. He can still tell it's him, but it doesn't look anything like his reflection.
Dark shadows shade the 'picture' of him, but his eyes… Those are a bright, clear blue. Luminescent, even. There are scars, so many scars that decorate his skin. Not just his face but his neck and the portion of his chest that can be seen before its covered by his clothing. Many are old, faded by time, but one runs from one of his temples to the corner of his mouth and still holds stitches to hold it closed. His lips have a faintly bluish cast.
The image seems faded, perhaps translucent, and Jason might think that's just part of the image until he notices that the clothing doesn't have that same almost see-through look. He can even see the back of his shirt through his neck, ever so faintly.
Finally there's that stripe in his hair, and it is not white. It's blood red. In fact, it seems to drip the viscous red stuff, matting down some of his hair and staining his collar.
He turns to stare at his 'reflection' for a very long, quiet moment. His gaze moves slowly up and down over the image as he leans back in his chair again. "Alright. I…I don't want to see it. Please." He turns his head away from it, brushing his fingers over his face as if he is tired.
"That's both incredibly cool and…not. So, I guess that told you a whole lot about me?," he asks, turning back to look at her but not the reflection.
Illyana Rasputina watches him as he looks at that 'reflection', and when he turns away she leans over to softly blow out the candle. As the flame dies, the glass stops glowing and Jason's image melts away. The magical circle around them fades back to simple chalk lines.
The room is darker now, without both the flame or the glowing glass or the magical circle. Illyana's eyes seem a touch too bright though. "Looking at someone's soul is a bit more intimate than seeing them naked." Her tone carries some levity, trying to keep things a bit light. "So yeah. If it makes you feel better, I'm really good at secrets." She assures him.
"I know it's not likely to bring you a lot of comfort, but you're 'clean', mystically speaking. Your soul is clean. Not 'pure'." She admits. "But clean. You're not going to end up a gateway for unspeakable evil, or slave to dark masters." She smirks, as though such a fate were laughable. But her eyes don't lie.
Illyana saw a lot more than that, but she doesn't feel the need to recite it out for him. Maybe what she saw is why she's not afraid to stand so close to an admitted killer.
He laughs softly at that first line and glances back at her. "And here I'd just like to see you naked," he teases, trying to lighten the mood a hint. At least for himself. Jason brushe shis fingers back through his hair and sighs softly, trying to calm down after that experience.
"I appreciate you being good at secrets," he grunts. She is close to him now, and his bright eyes land on hers, holding the gaze for the moment. "That is oddly good news. I never really thought about being a gateway to evil, but I guess it's good to know it isn't likely to happen, right?"
Illyana Rasputina chuckles at Jason's response. "I think the response to that goes something like 'buy a girl dinner first'." She doesn't seem offended, or even particularly bothered by his perhaps crude choice in humor. Instead she leans forward enough to place her hand on his shoulder and squeezes it lightly as he tries to pull himself together.
"I forget sometimes, that the last thing people want to see is their true self." Illyana gets to see it any time she lets the Darkchilde out, that demonic heritage write large for all to see.
The blonde gives him a small smile. She usually can't manage anything more that's not twisted by her nature into a smirk or predatory grin. "It is." She assures him. "Especially for someone brought back from the dead. Often times the pieces of the person are brought back: memories, habits, emotions. But not the soul. It leaves them open to being influenced by dark magics. But you're fine."
The smile slips away as she meets his gaze with hers, which seems to lack the warmth and life that most have. As though if between them one of them were lacking a soul, it would be her. "That many deaths on your hands… That's not going to be easy to get out from under." She admits. Never once has she seemed to doubt the veracity of his claim, despite the outrageous number for a single man to claim as a kill count.