( luther ) hit by nostalgia.

[erred]

Well, I guess it could always be worse, yeah? Like Alice said — it's just worse, being dead. And now I'm not dead, nor living, neither.

[ With a heavy sort of sigh: ] Aces.

Comments

[manipulating]

Happy to see my words made such a lasting impression on you, Ian.

[erred]

Thought they'd last a little longer, if y' know what I mean. [ He shrugs, casting about in a listless sort of manner. ] No such luck, though.

You, uh. You still hangin' about with John?

[manipulating]

Oh yes, of course. That. [ She puts out her pointer finger and thumb in the shape of a gun, knocking it back twice. Boom, boom. ] I might apologise if I were sorry, but we both know I'm not, so.

Are you sure you would like to discuss John?

[erred]

[ That prompts a visible flinch. (Unlike her, unlike John, he's always been somewhat shit about hiding his emotions.) ]

I dunno. I mean, no, you're right, just— not that much common ground to discuss, you an' me, is there?

[manipulating]

[ Oh Ian, Ian. It's easy to see how she gets enjoyment out of these conversations. ]

I'm positive we can find some ground — if not common. But John and I do keep in touch. Not as much as I would like, but we all faced certain consequences as a result of your misdeeds.

[ficus]

Yeah? Join the club.

[erred]

You too, huh? Never really gets any easier. You'd think it might, but—

[ He stops, shaking his head. ]

[ficus]

It doesn't — it only complicates things.

Then again, when you're, technically speaking, dead, there's very few alternatives.

[erred]

[ He lets out a huff of breath, the kind of noise that might be taken for a laugh if he didn't look so miserable. ]

Yeah, the amount of say you get in things tends to sort of shrink. Can't— can't say it's not my own fault, though.

[ficus]

Let me guess, dug your own grave and now you're being made to lay in it?

They say this place leads to second chances. So far, all I've gotten is the run-around.

[erred]

Just as well; never been a big believer in second chances. And yeah, I—

—I really fucked up, if you'll pardon my French.

[ficus]

Never been a big believer in fairy tales. I'm a scientist; second chances are a myth.

There's a lot of that going around.

[erred]

Ah, a scientist? [ For whatever it's worth, it's genuine interest. ] Never did anything that interesting.

Yeah, I'm not surprised. Dunno if there's anyone who'd go to their grave without at least a few regrets.

[ficus]

What I constituted as interesting got me shot. Believe me when I say my line of work isn't always what your Science teacher told you it was going to be when you were dissecting frogs in the sixth grade.

It's human nature. An untold secret, a theory never written down, a person never told hello, all that cliché' bull? — Everyone regrets something.

[erred]

To be fair, nothing's ever really the way you expect it'll turn out.

Kind of sad, isn't it?

[ficus]

We live, we die. There's nothing sad about it. Only factual.

Don't let them think that they hold the cards, by the way. Nobody has any say in what you do next, but you.

[erred]

Only — factual, sure. [ He sounds defeated, at best, but not particularly inclined to argue the point. ]

Yeah? You been able to exercise that principle, so far?

[ficus]

If you want to maintain some semblance of who you were before, there aren't many other options.

[deducible]

Limbo. [ He says it with emphasis on the bo, rocking back and forth on his heels. ]

A rather precarious place to be, I should think.

[erred]

'S not much fun, anyway. Everything you hope purgatory won't be, y' know?