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[nightmarist]

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[nightmarist]

No, but I understand you. You don't have to talk out loud while I'm here, unless it makes you feel better.

[aberrant_type]

[Hange licks her lips. Then she tries speaking mentally.]

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW?

[nightmarist]

I don't have ears right now. And you don't have to strain yourself. Your thoughts are my thoughts, even when they're not words.

[aberrant_type]

And I'm supposed to sleep like this?!!

[Hange is feeling a big jumble of emotions, if he can sense that. She's excited and stunned and deeply, deeply unnerved by this. How far does this go? There's things she never would've chosen to tell or show Ronan if she had her way. Can he discern those?

There's bourbon in the freezer. Hange gets herself together somehow and goes to pull it out. If she's even POSSIBLY going to sleep, it's going to have to be in a dumb, drunk stupor.]

[nightmarist]

[He absolutely can discern them, the unspoken question answered with unspoken certainty. Yes, he's reading her mind, and he knows what she's trying to hide, and he doesn't care about it.]

We don't have to do this. I'll leave whenever you want me to.

[aberrant_type]

No! I want this testing ground!

[That's said aloud, reflexively. She wants to do this job very badly, both because it could possibly help the import population and hopefully many civilians but also because she's just dying, she's so curious, so curious, so curious.

Also she IS MAD ABOUT THIS. Hange keeps her vicious streak on a tight leash both because she doesn't want people to know about it, and because it's not appropriate to let it splash out on people willy-nilly. And how he just jumps the gun and grabs it? Ronan, you fucking little fuck, you have the nerve to be scared of her--]

[nightmarist]

[Such altruistic motivations, though they do nothing to reassure Ronan. People throughout history have done the worst things with the best of intentions. There's nothing in this mind that makes him any less scared of her, and he isn't even digging deep into the dark places.

It's not one-way, though. Ronan's just as open to her, if she wants to look. He's afraid because a man in a gray suit once cornered him in a bedroom and detailed exactly what was to be done with Ronan, a process that involved all his parts disassembled and on display in a glass case. Hitmen, hunters, collectors, desperate men sacrificing children in the woods just to get their greedy wishes granted. Who can trust a human?]

Get drunk and relax, then.

[aberrant_type]

[she's not looking, yet. she has that much regard for him. so far. it's hard to tell what will hold, and what won't.]

You're a serious pain in the ass, kid.

[but, obediently, she is getting a bottle of bourbon from the freezer, and starting to chug. it hits her throat and stomach like a burst of flame. she staggers out to the backyard, which has been transformed into a beautiful garden]

[nightmarist]

And you're ungrateful.

[Ronan at least appreciates the bourbon. They have the same taste in liquor. He likes her garden, too. It shouldn't really make him less suspicious of her intentions, but somehow it does.]

[aberrant_type]

You're ungrateful!

[he is!!!!! she came out to his goddamn fucking farm when he was dissolving. What more does he want? Hange flops down under the roseberry bushes. They're roses, hybridized with raspberries. They fruit is crazy delicious. She chugs more bourbon and stares at the sky. No stars visible with the light pollution.]

[nightmarist]

[He knows what she did. And he is grateful, that she answered the call and went out of her way to help him, that she was in fact willing to respect his wish to die with some dignity - something no one else was prepared to let him do.

That's why he's trusting her with his power. The kind of power only gods should have.]

You should move out to the country.

[aberrant_type]

The city's where the action is...

[Hange reaches up and pulls off a couple of roseberries. They're plump, tart, sweet, and taste like mingled scent-of-roses and raspberries.]

Though the country... is my preference...

[nightmarist]

[Action's the whole problem, in Ronan's opinion. He spent the last year back home in self-imposed isolation to avoid the action of the outside world.]

These taste great. You're the one who should be out there farming and shit.

[aberrant_type]

Farming is useful... but I'm more useful... developing...

[She follows the words with more bourbon, and coughs as she swallows. The world is starting to spin around her. Not a bad sign, so far as these circumstances go.]

[nightmarist]

Developing what?

[Ronan would normally have gone quiet by now, but talking seems to be relaxing her.]

[aberrant_type]

New plants... new crops... new ideas...

[She's really getting loopy now. Hange reaches up, snagging herself on the thorns, and eats up more roseberries. The juice gushes out of the corners of her mouth, leaving red-purple tracks. She alternates this with another chug session of bourbon. Now she really is relaxed, so much so even her mouth doesn't close; saliva and berry juice dribbles out of the corner of her mouth.]

[nightmarist]

You should sleep on your side. It sucks to choke on puke.

[Although she won't be paralyzed when she wakes, the way he usually is. Much less likely to drown in bile.]

Then just let go. You'll find me when you get there.

[aberrant_type]

[Having put some friends to bed in the recovery position herself, Hange believes and listens to him. With some awkward fumbling, she rolls over onto her side - a much less likely position to choke on her own vomit.]

Mmmh...

[Yeah, she's gonna be gone within five minutes. In dreamland.]

[nightmarist]

[They're in Cabeswater, at the center of a clearing not all that different from Hange's garden. It's night here, too, but the stars are more visible than they are anywhere on Earth. The floor of the clearing is carpeted with flowers of such a pale blue that their petals seem to be glowing. The trees beyond them are pitch black, indistinct shapes against the glittering sky.

And there's Ronan, in the shape of a boy again, perched on a boulder by the clearing's edge. His body's hunched as he waits, giving him the look of a vulture.]

[aberrant_type]

[She opens her eyes, rolls onto her back, looks to the night sky and stills, spellstruck, pinned like a butterfly, for a second or two. So beautiful. So beautiful.

Then she sits up. Slouches forwards, runs her fingers through the tiny plants overrunning their entry point.]

Bright...

[nightmarist]

[They get even brighter when she says that. Or maybe that's her imagination. Or maybe this is her imagination.]

Be careful. They're listening. Try to keep your intentions clear and focused.

[Ronan has hardly moved, merely watching Hange.]

[aberrant_type]

What are these doing here?

[did she even listen to him? she probably did. Hange glances up, the whites of her eyes near flashing in the dim. gently, she tries to pull up one of those bright, bright flowers. If she takes the root ball with her and perhaps a bit of dirt for moisture...]

And here you are...

[nightmarist]

Yes.

[She can pluck as many as she wants. Ronan certainly has, before.]

They're here because I'm here. This place will change when you want it to.

[aberrant_type]

[She scoops out a clump of them, dirt included, and puts the whole shebang in a breast pocket.]

Really? Just by wishing?

[She's immediately extending her will, envisioning it almost as a push against the surrounding landscape. She wants the ground to drop away beneath them, but won't let either of them fall; great branches are there to catch them. She wants to see the forest of giant trees. It's been so long since she's been home, and she's alone from the scouts here.]

[nightmarist]

[As soon as she wishes for it, it happens. The ground drops away, but neither of them fall, because they're perched on sturdy branches. Ronan doesn't react, as if he's been hanging out on this branch the whole time.]

We're in your head, after all.