#ebony making limbo more neutral after mundus makes me. :)) i mean she seems to me a very neutral sort with more a leaning on good

[phantombs]

ebonyforged​:

     “Come on, give both of us some credit. You, for being memorable, and me, for having the manners to remember the name of someone who found me covered in blood.” It would be easy to lose it among the adrenaline, after all. Her eyes narrow and she taps her pointer finger on his hand through a slow nod, like he has a point. “You know what? Most of the time I don’t know why I keep going back either,” And no one, even the demons in her life, ever bothers to ask. They love to judge her for being unhinged enough to frequent a place that they avoid like the plague, but asking her why would require them to see things her way, and many of them aren’t very good at that. Then there are those that despise the thought of leaving Limbo, too. “but I do it without even really thinking about it. Sometimes I don’t, and it just pulls me in anyway. If I did do something specific to warrant all that, then I sure don’t remember it.”

     Ebony watches the bartender. Some things feel familiar no matter the surroundings. “You’re right, I am.” she easily agrees, then struggles to connect their perceptions. Finding things inside Limbo that haven’t died once already is a rarity, that remains true, but its veil offers itself as a looking glass. Not everything worth seeing from inside it is actually there. “I do see things in living people, but they’re not always to do with death. They can be secrets, desires, or fears. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. They definitely don’t see me, so,” Her eyes wander back to Cường from where they stuck to and followed the bartender. By feeling alone, she can tell the serious look on her face likely doesn’t suit her. “I think we each see our own things, but some of them overlap, and I don’t see them once I leave Limbo.” So he has it objectively worse, doesn’t he?

     Shaking her head, Ebony takes her hand away to pick up another vegetable and hold it up to Cường’s lips. “Sorry, I made things kind of gloomy with my questions. You didn’t bring me here for that, did you? I’d prefer you to cut loose, instead.”

"Funny. Some people would say you’ve got it confused. You get credit because you’re memorable, they’d tell me. And me, for remembering your name at all.” Fair enough. Somewhere near them, a cramped table of middle-aged men, faces weathered and sun-worn, clatter their beers in a hearty toast. That night with the blood and the thundering gunshots... Yet, it's her name that clings to his memory like rot. Ebony, she’d told him, the girl who wades in Limbo! Ebony, the reaper, who little knows why. Huh. What-- “A mystery,” Cường quietly drawls, mind wandering. He pauses. To be beckoned by such a godless voidscape... They call her unhinged, sure, but demented, too. Yet: “You want to know what I’d guess, though? To start with, you don’t go in to save anyone. Rescue them. I doubt very much that you’d call yourself the hero--” but! “--but I doubt more, to be honest, that you’re the bad guy. Evil.” Monstrous.

Well, how new. Or, hell, maybe it isn't all that refreshing to be looked at with such a keen gleam of doubt, but to dawdle on this possibly befuddling novelty? No one, not a soul, is drunk enough for that. Besides, more sobering than the full laughter of every insomniac barhopper, there’s other things worth extensively parsing. Ebony looks to him. She tells him what she sees, and she makes it sound brighter, far luckier, so full. Cường stares lamely. She eyes the bartender. “Our worlds are different then,” he begins, “but I still think we see more than enough.” True. He makes a sound, something caught on half a laugh, but it’s Cường, stoic Cường, and it most likely isn’t. “Don’t talk like that, like you feel bad for me or something. You see terrible things like I see terrible things, but just like you, I see good, too. And you know what? I don’t have to be dreaming to see that. Look at me. You’re happy I invited you for drinks, aren’t you?”

The somber air breaks. Hopefully. Cường blinks seeing the pickled radish offered, and without a care in the world, eats it easily. Good. He orders some eggs to pair and rolls his shoulders. “I am cutting loose, and I don't blame you. Getting drunk makes your lips loose, they say. I just thought you said you weren’t a lightweight. That's why I’m worried you won’t keep up with me.”