themuseabandonsyou | Deerington IC Inbox

I can be anywhere I want.

[He's more than happy to intrude where nobody wants him. It's sort of his thing, Orpheus.]

I thought I'd learn a little more about your headspace.

Maybe see how this whole... 'resurrection' thing works. You seem remarkably well for a dead man. [He doesn't move where he's sitting, casually pinching chunks of concrete off the short wall he's sitting on as if its just lint on a shirt, petals from a flower. Glancing up, he smiles.] You do look awful, though.

[ You look awful, Sam says, and as he does the new scars Orpheus woke up with fade into view around his neck and the joints of his right arm, as he thinks about what happened and remembers they're there. They're raw and red and barely healed, and Orpheus raises a hand to his throat to touch it gingerly as the pain kicks in as well. ]

I - I can tell you about the death fields, and what I saw there. Would that be enough? [ If that's what he's curious about, then maybe. ] Please. I don't want to do this again.

[ He doesn't want to find out if he can die in a dream within a dream, here. ]

[Should he bother to tell Orpheus he cannot kill him in his dream?

.... Mmm. Nah. Instead he leans in, elbow on his knee and hand on his palm.]

The death fields, you say?

... That might be a decent enough bargain. Tell me more.

[This is all so interesting. Sodder really made such an elaborate little world here; it’s a shame to see it all slowly circling the drain as she starts in on her last shred of life.]

[ Orpheus swallows hard. Right, okay, he can do this. It's just explaining how you came back to life to the person who killed you, and might be able to kill you again at any moment. With shaking hands, he pulls his guitar around on its shoulder strap so he can play, and begins to sing. ]

Waking 'neath the onyx tree
The god of death, it comes to me
Through fields of silver silken grass
Long limbed and antlered, with eyes of glass

It plucks a crimson fruit for me
The god of death, from the onyx tree
And bids that I swallow the seeds
That it may grant me my release

So there beneath the onyx tree
I eat the fruit it picked for me
And hear a whisper on the wind
A voice that's soft and feminine

It is all right now
I will bring you back
You will have another chance

The god of death, it carries me
Leaving behind the onyx tree
Upon its back we ride away
And I awake to light of day

[Aw, precious.

He has to admit, it’s pretty bold to play a whole song well while staring down the being that tore you apart. Not a terrible song, either; the lore is true, after all, even though he’s never been a fan of the Greek gods and their offspring.

Pursing his lips, he considers the lyrics.]

The onyx tree, is it? Who was this long-limbed creature that helped you?

[ Orpheus nods, swallowing hard. ]

Yes. And I'm not sure? It had antlers, and a body like a human's, and a face like a porcelain doll's with big black eyes. I don't think it was Sodder, or Ramona, who's apparently the one who brings us back and probably the owner of that voice I heard. I think it was just... a part of Deerington.

Fascinating. The mind of an alien child is really something, isn’t it?

So fractured, but those bits and pieces really paint a unique picture.

And how do you feel? For one so resurrected, it seems strange to be so ill. Is she not strong enough to bring you back at full health? Or do they enjoy to punish you a second time over for your dying?

Is it fractured? Or just different?

[ Orpheus is aware on some level that talking back to - or really just questioning - the man who killed him might not be the brightest idea, but characterizing Sodder as somehow broken or not right for being what she is doesn't seem fair to him, and neither does standing there and saying nothing about it. ]

I don't think that's it. Ramona sounded really tired, when she brought me back. I think doing this for all of us - bringing us back when we die - takes a lot out of her.

Why not both?

[He shrugs, dismissive.

It's not necessarily a bad thing, though. God's work could sometimes be very much the same. Fractured, different, and in a lot of regards, Lucifer looked up to his father and his beautiful work. The plants, the animals, the oceans... everything working in harmony, until he decided to muck it up with — well. You know who.]

Do you think she can keep doing it?

If I were to, say... wipe out half the town at once.

Would she have the power to return all of you?

I guess it could be.

[ He guesses, fractured doesn't necessarily have to mean broken or wrong. But he doesn't want to get into the philosophy of it, not here and not with Sam. ]

I don't know, [ he admits. ] Why would you want to, though? Why do any of this?

[He makes a face, disappointed in the mere fact that Orpheus has to ask.]

Because I want peace and quiet, without any of your kind around.

It's like removing the rats from your home, so they stop scratching at the walls.

It's like a good night's sleep.

[ Orpheus isn't even sure what to say to that at first, watching Sam with wide-eyed incomprehension. ]

What? [ Is what he asks when he finally does speak. ] Is that what we are to you? Just - pests?

[ He knows Sam thinks of himself on par with a god, but even the most wrathful Olympians knew that the men and beasts below them were foundational to the world working as it did, almost as much as they were. To imagine a being so powerful looking down and seeing not beloved subjects, but vermin is - almost alien, to Orpheus. ]

[Lucifer, meanwhile, just nods as if he's confirming his own name.

Casual. Normal. A simple, easy answer.]

Oh, absolutely.

I've had the displeasure of seeing humanity evolve over time. Suffice to say, they only get worse the longer they're allowed to screw up Earth; they're little termites, chewing through the wooden beams of the planet.

[ Orpheus just shakes his head, uncertain of how to process what he's hearing. It doesn't occur to him to point out that he's not entirely human himself - too selfish a thought to cross his mind and in any case, what matters is that his being mortal brings him closer to them than anything else. ]

I know we've done a lot of really terrible things, [ says Orpheus, who may have skipped out on several years of schooling but has managed to pick up a surprising amount of history through various oral traditions. ] But that can't be all we are, can it? If you've been there for all of it, you must have seen the good we do for each other and the world, too, right?

[He looks terribly humored by the thought -- and perhaps a touch disgusted.]

Does the good humanity does outweigh the bad, little half-muse?

The planet will hardly last long in their care; the planet will look sick and rundown by the time they're done with it. I'm doing everyone a favor by wanting them wiped away.

To think the dinosaurs were wiped out, and not a bunch of self-destructive hairless apes...

I think it does.

[ He says it quietly, but with a deep and personal conviction, looking Sam in the eyes. ]

Humans can be awful, and selfish, and mean, but they can also be amazingly kind, and courageous, and giving. I've only seen a little of the world, compared to you, but in my time I've met people who put everything they had and more into protecting strangers from monsters, all because they knew those strangers had people they loved that they needed to go back to at the end of the day. I've met people who dedicated their lives to backbreaking labor because what they were able to bring home to make their family and friends smile made it all worth it. I've met poets, and artists, and musicians who all spent their lives creating beautiful things, and they all told me it was for love - of other people, or ideals, or the world itself - to give back something to the people that gave them so much.

[ His voice rises steadily as he speaks, and he straightens up, no longer shrinking away from the being before him. ]

And I've seen people who have done terrible, awful things realize how much hurt they were putting into the world, and how they changed, and that matters more than anything else? Because no matter how horrible someone is now, if there's a chance they could learn to be kinder tomorrow, then don't they deserve the opportunity to try? Not to atone, but just to be better, for the sake of it?

Maybe we have done more bad than good in the world, but don't we deserve to keep striving to be better than we were yesterday? Have we really all been so awful that you'd take that chance away from us?

[That is something, at the end of the day, that cannot be changed: Lucifer is not kind. He is not giving. What courage he possesses, it's certainly not for anyone but himself and his own wants and needs. He would not protect a stranger. He would not dedicate his life to any labor, not with regard to humanity, not with regard to love.

Despite the tears in his eyes, he had still killed his brother, after all. A brother who had looked at him with pain and hurt in his gaze, just before Lucifer deposited him to the floor, left him dead and defeated.

Lucifer does not strive to be better; he is the best. He does not admit his mistakes; he doesn't make any. He does not change; he's already just as he should be.

Disappointed and sick of such saccharine ramblings about humanity, Lucifer wrinkles his nose, seems almost offended that the question has been presented to him.]

... You're one of those, then.

Hopeful of people, overly sympathetic. A helping hand. Naïve.

The last human I'd seen like you had been completely torn apart by his own kind, so many times he'd given up all semblance of hope, of value in his self. One of the few humans I had any appreciation for, and he was squandered on his own kind.

You'll suffer the same, of course.

We all know how your story ends, Orpheus.

I'd rather be naïve than give up on people. I'd rather have too much hope than forget how to hope in the first place.

[ He raises his chin, defiant and serious, though there's a certain sadness to it too. ]

I'm sorry that happened to someone you cared about. That's awful. But wouldn't you rather try for a world where there are more people like him, instead of swearing revenge on the people who tore him down? Wouldn't that be a better way to show appreciation for who he was?

[ Maybe it's assuming a lot, that Sam cared about whoever it is he's talking about, but Orpheus feels there must be some part of this being that loved or at least had some affection for someone else, once upon a time. He genuinely can't comprehend the idea of living so long without finding at least one person who seemed worthy. ]

[It is assuming a lot, because it's assuming Lucifer didn't help in tearing Sam Winchester down.

Which, for the record, he pleads the fifth.

But ah, he's Sam Winchester right now, isn't he? Good ol' Sammy.]

Oh, it's not revenge. It's a cleansing. [The space around them darkens, grows colder and colder still.] A cleansing I'm more than happy to do to this cursed little town, the stronger I get. I'll make a world he'd appreciate, alright; one that is full of life — just... without humans.

[He smiles slightly, eyes glowing red in the dimness.]

Say, don't you have a girl to fail? Can't you hear her hopelessness?

[ Orpheus goes quiet at Sam's last question, straining his ears to listen for Eurydice's voice. He doesn't hear her, though, just the distant rumble of machinery and the ringing of pickaxes against stone. He shakes his head. ]

She's not here, [ he says, and it comes out defiant because maybe that's a good thing. Even if this is a dream, he doesn't want to see what Sam would do to her, for the sake of cruelty or to get a rise out of him. For once he's grateful that this dream in particular always ends with him alone. ]

It's just us here. You don't get to see her. [ Sam doesn't get to use her memory against him. Not so directly, anyway. ]

[Rather nightmarishly, the voice that comes from Lucifer's lips is — ]

I'll always be here.

[ — Eurydice's voice. Plucked from far more beautiful dreams, twisted up and repurposed and full of emptiness, full of hopelessness.]

Even when you don't see me, I'll be right here, Orpheus.

[Lucifer smiles, humored, and then is suddenly (blissfully) gone.

After all, Orpheus is tormenting himself plenty without his help, isn't he?]

[ Orpheus staggers back like he's been struck when he hears that, drawing a sharp breath between his teeth. This isn't the first time he's heard Eurydice's voice since losing her to the underworld a second time, thanks to Deerington being itself, but hearing her sound so defeated cuts him deep, even knowing it's just a trick. ]

Stop it- [ He snaps, shaking his head and taking another step back - but Sam is already gone by the time he looks up again, leaving him all alone in the empty city, the distant sounds of work echoing off the endless expanse of stone and steel. ]

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