lifetothefullest | [IC Inbox]

I have an office at the Clinic, but I can meet you elsewhere if you prefer.

[Going to the clinic means he'd have to walk over without armor, and Ephemera doesn't like that idea much. Not with Washington here.]

I've got an apartment if that works
i don't really know how this goes

That's fine.

[It's always a risk for Lance to go to someone's apartment to, but he thinks he's probably safe in this instance.]

Do you want to meet now?

[.....fuck. Does he say yes? No? Ephemera fusses with his phone and ends up rewriting the message three times before he finally gives up and just sends it.]

sure

[He sends his address too ~~because the mun forgot to assign him an actual room shhh~~]

I'll be there in about half an hour.

[Just to give them both a little time. Although Lance typically tries to be a bit more professional looking for this sort of thing, he somehow doesn't think he should bother with Ephemera; not only does he doubt it'd accomplish anything, considering they already know each other, but it might actually have a detrimental effect to appear too formal.

So when he shows up half an hour later--as promised--he's dressed pretty casually, wearing jeans and a plain sweater, although his hair is at least tamed. That counts for something, especially with his hair.

He knocks on the door, and waits for Ephemera to answer.]

[Before coming to Hadriel, the last conversation Ephemera had with a shrink was on the Tartarus, with Aiden Price, the goddamn weasel. It hadn't gone too well. He's not sure what to expect from this one, but hopes - maybe foolishly - that it'll go better. Sweets helped Drake work out his shit. Ephemera needs to sort his out too. There's no other way around it. He can't go on like he has, not with Washington.

So, this is happening. And he's going to do his best with it.

He opens the door in regard clothes, sweatshirt and loose pants, both of them too big and covered in paint stains. The scars didn't give Sweets pause last time. No reason to think they would now.

Ephemera steps back to let him in, running a hand through his hair. He weighed the risks of letting Sweets know where he lives, but deemed them acceptable. There's not a whole lot of tactical information to be had - most of the rooms have the same layout, anyway. His are messy, paints and drop clothes everywhere. Nearly all the walls have murals on them. Landscapes, the night sky. A meteor burning up as it enters the atmosphere.]

Drake says you're good at this shit.

[Indeed, the scars don't bother him; he's used to seeing people with unusual looks, and he also has scars of his own and it's never all that fun when people comment on them. At least his are easier to hide, though.

He nods at Ephemera in greeting as he steps into the apartment, and is immediately distracted by the murals; surprise and amazement show on his face briefly as he glances around at them all, but turns his attention back toward Ephemera at his comment.]

Did he?

[That's... Good to know, actually. He's glad that he apparently left a positive impression, because that means he might've actually helped, although he realizes belatedly that his own question probably didn't project a lot of confidence. So--]

I am very successful in my profession, at home.

[Ephemera leans back against the counter, watching Sweets. He's not at all like Price. That's probably good.]

I got anger issues.

[Might as well be blunt.]

Specifically about somebody here. And killing the fucker's not an option.

[Oh. Well, getting right into things is definitely simpler than having to go through the longer question and answer session to figure out what the problem is, and it's also a good sign for Ephemera to be self-aware of his own issues.]

Okay. Anger issues are very common, and there are many ways to manage them. Can you tell me more about the situation, though?

[Regarding the individual he's angry at, specifically, but anything will help.]

Agent Washington. He killed my family. He and his team.

[And for that they deserve to fucking die screaming. For CT and the others, for not having the courtesy to make sure Ephemera was with them when they died. He forces his hands to relax, pressing them flat against the counter.]

Took me a long time to find him. But I waited. Got my chance.

[Ephemera grins suddenly, before he can remember not to.]

Back home. Hnn. Almost had him, and that bitch Carolina. Almost. But now I'm here.

[And it wouldn't take. It wouldn't matter at all. Ephemera sucks in a harsh breath. When he speaks again, his voice is marginally calmer.]

I'm here.

[Oh.]

That... Seems less like an anger problem and more like very justified anger.

[Although the revenge part of that whole story is... Not great, but it's also very different from what is normally falls under anger issues.

He's quiet another few moments, watching Ephemera's reaction.]

You're here.

[He confirms the statement, crossing his arms, though the gesture is more for his own benefit than a reaction to anything Ephemera said or did. He just finds the situation distressing, both due to feeling for Ephemera and in thinking about how he'd react if some of the less than pleasant people from his world showed up here. How would he handle it?]

You're right in that killing him is not an option here.

[He'd like to say it's not an option anywhere, but he's not even going to try getting into that argument.]

As frustrating and unsatisfying though it might be, your best course of action in this place is to act like he doesn't exist. You're not going to gain anything by speaking to--or fighting with, or doing whatever else to--him.

[It helps that Sweets agrees with him. Like it's not so fucking irrational to want Washington and the others dead for what they fucking did. Ephemera touches his knuckles to his mouth briefly, watching Sweets.]

Tried that. Didn't work.

[Might as well be brutally honest.]

Also I shot him. And set him on fire.

[Well, at least he's already crossing his arms, so he doesn't have to do that. But he does fix Ephemera with a look that's somewhere between incredulous and disapproving, even if he appreciates him being honest.]

All since he arrived?

[Or does this include back in their world?

Also he'll just... Get to how bad that all is in a moment.]

Yep.

[He doesn't really want to talk about what when down on Chorus.]

He lived. He's fine.

[He's not even going to question that right now; he doesn't have the mental energy for it.]

And did any of that accomplish anything?

[Ephemera tenses, but breathes through it. Presses his hands flat against the counter.]

He was on fire.

[There's some satisfaction in that. There has to be. Ephemera runs a hand through his hair unhappily.]

Thought it'd feel better than it did.

That's very common. It's natural to expect that you might get some sense of peace from enacting what feels like justice.

[But most people find that harming someone else doesn't help themselves feel any better, even if it seems like it would make things right.]

[Ephemera works his jaw slowly, eyes narrowed.]

Would've. If I killed him.

[He believes that with everything in him. There had been a deep and awful satisfaction in killing the men who'd hurt the twins, back in the day. But that had been final. What they'd done was punished and the survivors moved on.

Here, Washington wouldn't stay dead.]

My family and I, we burned some fuckers once. Covered them in gas, let them cook in their armor. Boom.

[He lifts his chin slightly, watching Sweets. Daring him to argue.]

They had it coming, for what they fucking did. And Washington--

[Hnn. Ephemera bares his teeth.]

He killed them clean. I'd kill him if it would matter, but it won't. And I don't burn people who don't deserve it.

[He wishes he could muster up the shock and horror that those statements warrant, but he can't. At this point he's just accepting that everyone in this place is a mess and it's not like anyone is going to listen to him telling them they're wrong, so it isn't worth the effort to bother.

But he doesn't bother hiding that he disapproves, eyes narrowing and arms crossing more tightly against his chest, but he decides to just ignore the entire thing completely. There's no point in arguing about it, and he's sure Ephemera gets the sense that Lance doesn't at all condone those actions.]

All of that is completely irrelevant. He won't stay dead here, so you're going to have to handle his presence in a different way.

[Ephemera watches Sweets and nods just once. The disapproval is clear, but Sweets doesn't say a word. Not about the fire, at least. But if he'd been there, Ephemera feels confident that Sweets wouldn't have stopped them. There are lines that human beings aren't meant to cross, things that he wouldn't have even done to Washington, that were done to his brother and sister. And they had to be answered, there had to be retribution.

Sometimes, the only response to cruelty is to meet it.]

Yeah.

[His voice is calmer now.]

I don't know how. Thought you could help with that.

[At least Ephemera seems to agree on his latest statement, so Lance tries to focus on the matter at hand rather than everything else he's just heard.]

I can, at least in regards to helping you choose a plan of action and in methods of handling the mental and emotional effects of dealing with his presence. However, it will be up to you to decide whether you're willing to follow through with them.

[Especially because it there isn't going to be any sort of miracle fix for this situation. It's going to be unpleasant all around, and he doesn't doubt Ephemera will be tempted to resort to more familiar methods.]

Figured.

[There's no easy fix to this. Ephemera exhales sharply.]

You mind if I smoke?

[It calms him down. Keeps him centered in the moment.]

[Not a question he's expecting, but--]

Sure, it doesn't bother me.

[And it's Ephemera's house anyway. Besides, although it's not exactly a habit Lance encourages, there are far worse ways to calm ones nerves than a cigarette; assuming that's what he means, anyway.]

[Cool. Ephemera has a packet and lighter resting on the sink already. He tries not to smoke when he's painting, but he doesn't have any ash trays. That leaves the sink and all his paints, the murals drying heavy on the walls. He lights one and inhales deeply, letting the nicotine hit.

It helps a little. The clarity of it. Different from the feeling he gets when he paints. Sharper, somehow.]

When I'm here, I know it won't matter. Killing him.

[He exhales sharply, cigarette held loosely between two fingers.]

But then I look at him, and I see my family. They're dead and he's here. That's not fucking fair. And I know. I know. Shit's not fair. I get that.

[He's quiet a moment.]

It won't matter if I kill him or not. They're still gone. But I was angry for a long time. It kept me going. And I don't know how to let it go.

[Lance shifts on his feet, still a bit agitated about this entire thing, but he's beginning to calm down a bit as well; he listens to what Ephemera says, and it's encouraging.]

You're right, about all of that.

[And it's nice that he's so self-aware of not only his own feelings but the overall situation, because it means they can skip right to the important and difficult part of how to handle things. And Lance is quiet a moment, considering options and what to say next, before finally speaking again.]

Letting go of your anger is easier said than done, but the most important thing to remember is that it's about what's best for you. Choosing not to be angry, or to focus your energy and attention on him, doesn't mean what he did is okay or that you forgive him; it means you're not allowing him or his actions to have any further control over your life.

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