[It's the most succinct way she can think to express the ways in which a simple yes or no would be insufficient.]
We all died. We were all offered a choice, and we all all chose to come back. There were... others, there. Some we could speak to, some we couldn't. The ones we could talk to, we called them our guardians. Each of us had a different one. They gave us different pieces, different perspectives on the same whole.
[A rustle of clothing; a sigh.]
I'm willing to tell you anything you want to know. Lying only delays the inevitable, and I don't know how much time I have. I just want to know one more thing: are you still willing to learn?
Maybe nothing. Nothing concrete yet. What we learned, it's impossible to explain without context. There's still so much I don't know; half of it is body, a felt thing, buried in the story. From what I've been hearing, it might not even work.
[A faint, dry sound of skin on skin -- she's run her hand over her face.]
I'm trying to decide if I could forgive myself if I didn't at least try. If I do, I'll need at least five people. Strong, flexible, willing to listen. I'm sorry; I can't say more than that. In time I think you'll understand why.
[A beat; a wry huff of laughter.]
Maybe you already do. You've also touched the impossible.
[ he does understand. not the specifics - he doesn't know how things work for her outside of the basics, of the suppositions of a man whose fascinations outweighed his conscience - but they've too many similarities in story for him not to understand that all things have their own time.
hers will come when it comes. and he's in less of a hurry than he ever has been. ]
When you're ready. [ when, not if. the lure of reaching for what's out there, the hope inherent in it, isn't something that can be resisted by anyone with a sense of either wonder or responsibility. there's an uncomfortable intersection implicit with those who have less noble aims, but that doesn't limit the inevitability of action. at least, not in his experience.
if there's a chance, the chance will be taken.
and in the meantime: ] You mentioned you were blind.
[ not exactly what she said, but unless she's an incredible actor with excellent other senses the implied blindness isn't current. let's talk about that. ]
[Not directly, but she already knows he's sharp. It's no great surprise he picked up on that.]
I was. After my first NDE. A bus accident. I was eight.
[A beat. For all the weight of the words, she says them with no more than their due solemnity. Speaking casually about all of this makes it lighter, easier to carry. Besides, this part of it happened so long ago it feels almost like someone else's life.]
I was blind for most of my life. Until my second NDE. Or... the second that I can remember, anyway; that timeline is a little confused.
[ he knows all about confused timelines, doesn't so much as blink. neither does he do her the disservice of dwelling on the wrong points of focus. they're not here to share commiserations for accidents of yesteryear. ]
You died, traveled, spoke to your - guardian? [ not doubt, just checking in on the terminology again ] chose to come back and came back changed. Medically induced, or a part of your choice?
[ doctors would find any number of ways to explain the loss and regaining of a sense after trauma. he would, once upon a time. it's not what he's asking. was her sight and lack thereof a consequence of her journey, or just of her deaths? how much physical influence did that other dimension have over her in the one she returned to? ]
[There's a short intake of breath and then a pause before she continues.]
Khatun. Her name is Khatun. She was there in my first NDE too. That was the first choice. She said... she said she couldn't bear for me to see what lay ahead.
[Another little beat, this one more thoughtful than hesitant.]
The second time, Hap said it was the only non-scientific death he ever had. No pulse for seven minutes. He'd... hit me, back of the head. With the butt of a rifle, I think. When I woke up, there was... light. Colour. I didn't choose that, it just happened. The rewards and costs of that one were... different. I don't know, maybe it was the blow on the head. Maybe it was part of it. Maybe I'd already moved past what she didn't want me to see.
[ With the butt of a rifle, I think. Christ. Another flare of anger at a man he ought never to meet, but that's not the conversation. He's been given the freedom to pry, yes, but he's not going to pry into that. Not yet.
Khatun. Not a name he recognises specifically, not in this context, no being he's met.
That's less important than the fact that her sight was removed by someone from another dimension, and potentially gifted back in the same way. ]
Khatun... Do you get the sense that she's always been with you? That each of you have always been tied to one of them?
[ From before, maybe. Cycles, connection across dimension and time, the linear only linear now because human experience needs a focused channel if its to understand itself, needs a narrative, a story to contain meaning.
He's seen too much not to speculate. Doubt is a rarer phenomenon than travelling through the multiverse, and that in itself is a self-perpetuating reality.
He thinks on the Ancient One. He only knew her for a short time but she knew him much longer. She knew his past, his future. His potential. And without her, he'd never have breached the boundaries of his life - never have died and been reborn, never have stepped beyond the reality he knew into the vastness of everything else. She changed him. It's not the same story, but he did have to travel through dimensions to really see her. And although not fatal, it did take a death of sorts to deliver him to her to begin with.
Perhaps their universes aren't so different after all. ]
[OA lapses into another thoughtful silence; there's a soft hum and a rustle of hair and clothing as she rubs the back of her head absently.
They're good questions, good enough that she doesn't mind taking her time to consider them, savour them, and she's sure Stephen won't either.]
I was so young the first time we met; everything was so strange already, it didn't occur to me at first, but she did speak as if she knew me. What had happened to me, what was going to happen to me. I don't know if I can call that 'always'.
[Another pause; a soft tch.]
Mm, no, maybe it is. The second time, I asked if I was like her, the same... the same kind of person, creature she was. The NDEs are like dreams; they have their own logic, things that can't be put to words outside of them. I know why I asked and what I meant, but I don't know if I could explain it.
She... shook her head, no. She said I was the original. I couldn't tell you what that means. Maybe I knew then; I don't now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[It's the most succinct way she can think to express the ways in which a simple yes or no would be insufficient.]
We all died. We were all offered a choice, and we all all chose to come back. There were... others, there. Some we could speak to, some we couldn't. The ones we could talk to, we called them our guardians. Each of us had a different one. They gave us different pieces, different perspectives on the same whole.
[A rustle of clothing; a sigh.]
I'm willing to tell you anything you want to know. Lying only delays the inevitable, and I don't know how much time I have. I just want to know one more thing: are you still willing to learn?
no subject
[ if there's one thing he can say with full and total certainty, it's that.
and for all that everything she's said has opened many doors to many more answers, one question sits waiting, glaring brighter than the rest. ]
What is it that you're looking to teach?
no subject
[A faint, dry sound of skin on skin -- she's run her hand over her face.]
I'm trying to decide if I could forgive myself if I didn't at least try. If I do, I'll need at least five people. Strong, flexible, willing to listen. I'm sorry; I can't say more than that. In time I think you'll understand why.
[A beat; a wry huff of laughter.]
Maybe you already do. You've also touched the impossible.
no subject
hers will come when it comes. and he's in less of a hurry than he ever has been. ]
When you're ready. [ when, not if. the lure of reaching for what's out there, the hope inherent in it, isn't something that can be resisted by anyone with a sense of either wonder or responsibility. there's an uncomfortable intersection implicit with those who have less noble aims, but that doesn't limit the inevitability of action. at least, not in his experience.
if there's a chance, the chance will be taken.
and in the meantime: ] You mentioned you were blind.
[ not exactly what she said, but unless she's an incredible actor with excellent other senses the implied blindness isn't current. let's talk about that. ]
no subject
[Not directly, but she already knows he's sharp. It's no great surprise he picked up on that.]
I was. After my first NDE. A bus accident. I was eight.
[A beat. For all the weight of the words, she says them with no more than their due solemnity. Speaking casually about all of this makes it lighter, easier to carry. Besides, this part of it happened so long ago it feels almost like someone else's life.]
I was blind for most of my life. Until my second NDE. Or... the second that I can remember, anyway; that timeline is a little confused.
no subject
You died, traveled, spoke to your - guardian? [ not doubt, just checking in on the terminology again ] chose to come back and came back changed. Medically induced, or a part of your choice?
[ doctors would find any number of ways to explain the loss and regaining of a sense after trauma. he would, once upon a time. it's not what he's asking. was her sight and lack thereof a consequence of her journey, or just of her deaths? how much physical influence did that other dimension have over her in the one she returned to? ]
no subject
[There's a short intake of breath and then a pause before she continues.]
Khatun. Her name is Khatun. She was there in my first NDE too. That was the first choice. She said... she said she couldn't bear for me to see what lay ahead.
[Another little beat, this one more thoughtful than hesitant.]
The second time, Hap said it was the only non-scientific death he ever had. No pulse for seven minutes. He'd... hit me, back of the head. With the butt of a rifle, I think. When I woke up, there was... light. Colour. I didn't choose that, it just happened. The rewards and costs of that one were... different. I don't know, maybe it was the blow on the head. Maybe it was part of it. Maybe I'd already moved past what she didn't want me to see.
no subject
Khatun. Not a name he recognises specifically, not in this context, no being he's met.
That's less important than the fact that her sight was removed by someone from another dimension, and potentially gifted back in the same way. ]
Khatun... Do you get the sense that she's always been with you? That each of you have always been tied to one of them?
[ From before, maybe. Cycles, connection across dimension and time, the linear only linear now because human experience needs a focused channel if its to understand itself, needs a narrative, a story to contain meaning.
He's seen too much not to speculate. Doubt is a rarer phenomenon than travelling through the multiverse, and that in itself is a self-perpetuating reality.
He thinks on the Ancient One. He only knew her for a short time but she knew him much longer. She knew his past, his future. His potential. And without her, he'd never have breached the boundaries of his life - never have died and been reborn, never have stepped beyond the reality he knew into the vastness of everything else. She changed him. It's not the same story, but he did have to travel through dimensions to really see her. And although not fatal, it did take a death of sorts to deliver him to her to begin with.
Perhaps their universes aren't so different after all. ]
no subject
They're good questions, good enough that she doesn't mind taking her time to consider them, savour them, and she's sure Stephen won't either.]
I was so young the first time we met; everything was so strange already, it didn't occur to me at first, but she did speak as if she knew me. What had happened to me, what was going to happen to me. I don't know if I can call that 'always'.
[Another pause; a soft tch.]
Mm, no, maybe it is. The second time, I asked if I was like her, the same... the same kind of person, creature she was. The NDEs are like dreams; they have their own logic, things that can't be put to words outside of them. I know why I asked and what I meant, but I don't know if I could explain it.
She... shook her head, no. She said I was the original. I couldn't tell you what that means. Maybe I knew then; I don't now.