[ It's a bit of pride on Day's end, too. It's easy to do as an expression of affection and friendship, but now when he feels unmoored, it's like admitting that he faltered in an unsightly manner. It feels like asking Ginger to shoulder more of his burdens when he's hardly got to help Ginger with his own.
He's startled at first when Ginger suddenly takes his hand, but he immediately grips back tight like it's a lifeline. Here is proof that he's still in a reality that hasn't forgotten him, and Ginger hasn't forgotten him. Which is silly, it's not like he'd be in this room if Ginger had forgotten him, but the irrational part of his brain that's been trying to insist on the flight response since he woke up can only be reassured with physical touch.
Ginger can practically feel the "thank god, you're real" in the grip, even if Day doesn't say anything. ]
[ Ginger has never been the one to anchor someone else before; he’s always the needy one, the troubled one. Everyone else seems to flow through eternal life - and then there’s Ginger with his feet sunk in mud, trudging through the marsh of the present.
He doesn’t exactly know how to comfort, but he matches Day’s grip for a moment. It’s okay. He’s here. They’re here.
Then - he relaxes his grip so that it’s still firm, still sure - but not a vise. As though trying to show Day that he can do the same. There’s no need to desperately clutch something that’s right here. ]
[ It takes a long moment before Day finds it in himself to relax and match Ginger, as his thoughts are slowly pulled back down to earth from the high of anxiety and hypervigilance. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. ]
Sorry. [ Because he must seem incomprehensible and needy right now. ] I just... I thought everyone forgot 'bout me again. [ "Again", because that's the truth that Day saw, and he's too tired to think about what it'd imply to Ginger. ]
[ Day blinks slowly like it's taking a bit for what he just said to sink in, then closes his eyes in a grimace as if to say to himself, "Oh, good going, genius."
Well. Cat's out of the bag now. ]
...You ain't gonna like the answer. [ In a roundabout way, he's asking: do you want to be burdened with that knowledge? Because lately, he feels like he's just been asking Ginger to shoulder his burdens with what he tells him, and he hasn't done nearly as much in return. ]
[ "You're not okay." and man, doesn't Day wish he actually was okay. ]
Twice, under different names. [ Identities he had that no longer exist now for whatever reason. ] ...Once, as "myself". [ And that's the one that truly bothers him. ]
[ It's a good thing Ginger changed the phrasing because honestly he isn't sure if he wants to, so much as it'd been buzzing in his head and he'd been trying to get it to stop. And apparently, the only way to do it is to get it off his chest. Horrid.
The fingers on Day's free hand drum against his knee, as he tries to decide where he should start. ]
Well...first of all, how mortal do you think I am, Ginger?
[ Because talking to Malice made Day dimly realise that he isn't actually sure how many dots Ginger has connected, if at all, or what sort of assumptions Ginger's been working with. He's pretty sure his attitude has nixed any possibility of being immortal from Ginger's point of view, but otherwise, he doesn't know how much Ginger understands about mortal lives, either. ]
[ Which isn't the same as mortal. He takes a moment to explain, using their hands as a link: this side is Ginger - divine, sinful and immortal; across this line is Day and he is - blurred. Mortal enough, but long-lived enough that Ginger can't feel where his mortality ends. ]
I think... you'll die one day, but it won't be for a long, long time.
[ And when he does, Ginger wonders what name he will be remembered as. He wishes he knew; and wishes he didn't. Because if it's not Day, he doesn't think tears will be enough to express the sadness he'll feel. ]
[ Day's gaze trails down to where they're holding hands, because he senses Ginger trying to use them to explain. His fingers curl around Ginger's hand for a moment, as if to say that at least right now, it's Day. ]
Got that right. I guess you could say I'm...a mortal with a bunch of extras tacked on. [ Which he realises is a rather crude way of explaining it, but it makes sense to him. ] I can live pretty darn long, assumin' I, uh, don't mess up and get myself killed 'fore then. [ Hm. Moving on. ] But...not a day more than what destiny says I get, 'cause there's always an ending, accordin' to the Maidens.
The Maidens are...I guess basically, my bosses at the top of the Bureau of Destiny. They Choose the agents for their divisions when they're born, but we don't find out 'bout this for years 'til the appointed hour happens. So 'fore I joined the Division of Serenity, I was just some regular mortal down in Creation with my own life. [ And at some point he had to segue from that mortal life to a life working for Heaven. Ginger might be able to guess what that involved. ]
I ain't plannin' on gettin' killed, that's for sure. [ Please believe he'll do his bestest to not die. ]
But yeah. I lived there 'till I was 16, then I left for the city. Got an apprenticeship at the theatre. I was part of the orchestra, but I understudied for one of the actors. It was... [ ...Hm, even now he still feels something about it, huh. ] It was pretty nice. Felt like I was steppin' towards a dream.
Then I actually had to fill in for him, and the appointed hour came.
Mm, that explains the humming. You were and still are made of music.
[ Then the appointed hour came and the dream was left to die. Ginger’s thumb rubs the back of Day’s hand idly, as though trying to soothe some of the pain of a dead and rotting dream. ]
[ The first comment gets a small laugh out of Day, which is maybe an improvement from the state he was in when he showed up. Maybe Ginger's right, because music is one constant he kept somehow, before and after. ]
To other people? Yeah. [ And his old name simply vanished, like the rain disappearing into the earth. ] But, y'know, the funny thing is, when it came, it didn't feel awful. Felt amazin', even. [ The moment itself, he means. Not everything that came after.
He pauses for a long moment, trying to find the words to explain something he's never actually tried to describe to anyone before this. How does he explain what it means to be marked by one of the Maidens, by the stars and fate and destiny? ]
...When I was on the stage, and the appointed hour came, it was like...for a moment, I could see every possibility. Every string and thread of cause and effect for every choice, and I could pick 'em out with a glance. The world sang with... [ His brows furrow, an appropriate term escaping him. ] With star-music. One moment where I heard celestial harmony, or somethin' like that. And I think that was the first time I knew what it felt to be tied to somethin' bigger than myself.
[ And then that moment passed, and every tie he had to the rest of the world was unceremoniously cut. ]
[ He listens, smiling faintly when Day smiles, but his thoughts wander between each word Day says, like someone lost in a forest. His mind looks for meaning in this way and that, around each word, around each tree.
And what answers he can’t find, he asks. ]
So you… remember everything about “you.” The original “you”? And what about “Day”? Who is he?
[ He has somethings he wants to say, but for now he’ll wait a little longer. ]
Yeah. I think right now, I'm the only one who remembers everything about "me", 'cause it's my life. [ Everything his Sidereal colleagues might know about his life before...is either whatever bits he's told them, or that they've gleaned through talking with him. Or whatever was in that file Mirror compiled before she came to fetch him, apparently. ]
"Day" is... [ ...Damn, he probably has to explain something else first for this make sense. ] The reason why I can't stay in people's memories is 'cause my fate is hidden from the world, yeah? Same goes for the rest of us in the bureau. So the world won't acknowledge me, 'less I'm right there and they're forced to. And as soon as I'm not, out of sight, out of memory.
It makes our work difficult, so we have to work 'round it somehow. "Joyous Day"...is an identity I wove from the stars. A Resplendent Destiny that represents a role that the world will acknowledge me as. Kinda like slottin' myself in the world's destiny, even if it can't really be "me".
[ A beat. ]
Mighta made the mistake of makin' "Day" a lot like my old life. [ You know, the thing every senior Sidereal has told him to proceed with caution about? ]
No, I'm glad you did. I like "Day" and I probably would have liked the old you, too - but... is there... really that much of a difference between those parts of you? They're still... you.
[ Day is what Ginger will be calling him until he's asked otherwise. ]
The thing I'm confused about is... how could your fate be hidden when you don't exist in singularity...? Once you interact with another being, your paths have crossed and your fate has touched theirs. Erasing their memories of you... affect more than just you. Even for a being like me - especially for a being like me, actually.
Here, especially? ...Nah. I can't even feel the destiny on my shoulders, so I ain't obliged to stay "in character". I just asked everyone to call me Day 'cause that's who I was bein' right 'fore I showed up. [ And at the time, he figured it was going to be business as usual.
But at the second part, Day sort of just...laughs. It's a very dry laugh that could be interpreted as bitter, or even self-depreciative. ]
See, there's somethin' funny 'bout that. You would think it works that way, but what happens is—they forget me, but not the stuff I did. So there's just a bunch of gaps and wrinkles where there are things that matter to them but they can't remember who it was from, yeah? People are real good at tryin' to fill in those holes with whatever makes sense, most of the time. Fate helps iron stuff out. It ain't like I cease to exist in the world, more like whatever's left behind gets assigned to something else.
[ Which...maybe some things will take on a different light or make a different kind of sense to Ginger now, with that explanation. Day isn't sure. ]
...How do angels and demons die? [ Why does he feel like he is not going to enjoy this answer, ]
When… we live so long that the years don’t count for much, what else marks pivotal changes in our existence but memories. These important moments mark our growth in eternity, they shape us. When we lose them, we… unravel.
[ And it starts small, your fingers first maybe - a little more transparent than the day before. Until… ]
We can also die through injuries, but we’re not involved in any more wars, so that’s less likely.
[ Day listens to Ginger and you can practically hear him drop the metaphorical beat at the mention of memories, especially as the explanation continues. And there's this look in his eyes of someone who's suddenly having to do a bunch of social math, if you will, weighing a bunch of thoughts in his head against each other before trying to voice any of them.
(They are, probably, still holding hands, so this is also probably going to look quite silly in a bit.)
The fact that Ginger brought this up concerning how Day can't stay in memories is relevant, probably. Probably? He doesn't like it one bit. And this isn't a problem of whether or not Day matters enough, at least from Day's point of view, it's just—it feels so arrogant to assume he might be so important that he could change someone in such a way. He's been in and out of enough people's lives to know that even if he's changed their lives a little, it's not the same as being something they'd want to hold onto or being a mark (or scar) that stays. It's not a matter of self-depreciation or anything, it's just how life and people work. Maybe worrying over this is just selfish of him, the forget-me-not heart wanting to be self-centered enough to think he's that important to someone.
But he—he has to ask this. Because if there's even a 1% possibility, a certain priority is going to be moved to the top of the list, immediately. ]
Ginger, I... don't take this the wrong way— [ Gods he must be nervous to have to preface with this line, but he's already said it. ] —but are you sayin' that if you forget me, you might die?
[ He should have said something earlier but… He sighs, part frustrated at himself, but mostly… apologetic. His hand tightens around Day’s. ]
It’s so rare, that I didn’t even think to bring it up - before. It’s not that I forgot, obviously. Just… You know. I still should have said something earlier.
[ He can’t remember the last angel or demon who died in such a way. That’s how rare. ]
But… yeah… that’s what I’m saying. At the very least, forgetting you will change me in some way.
[ He squeezes Ginger's hand back, carefully, then he tries to rub his thumb against it, like Ginger had done for him earlier. ]
I ain't mad or blamin' you, for the record. What were the chances of you meetin' some guy who's fated to be forgotten by the world? [ Said dryly, in the kind of tone of someone who just knows that somewhere, fate is laughing. If the stakes involved weren't "Ginger's life", he'd find this ironically funny. ] If anythin', I wouldn't be surprised if you got mad with me instead. [ Because through sheer accident, Ginger's crossed paths with someone who's a potential threat to his life just by existing as is. ]
...I do have some— [ he can't really call it good news yet, he guesses, ] —better news. That I was gonna tell you anyway, but this kinda makes it more relevant. [ Funny how things turn out. ]
[ A beat. ]
And a kinda messed up thought, but maybe one you'd get, 'cause of the whole possessiveness. [ Which is something he's willing to voice only because he trusts Ginger, and hopes Ginger trusts back about as much. ]
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He's startled at first when Ginger suddenly takes his hand, but he immediately grips back tight like it's a lifeline. Here is proof that he's still in a reality that hasn't forgotten him, and Ginger hasn't forgotten him. Which is silly, it's not like he'd be in this room if Ginger had forgotten him, but the irrational part of his brain that's been trying to insist on the flight response since he woke up can only be reassured with physical touch.
Ginger can practically feel the "thank god, you're real" in the grip, even if Day doesn't say anything. ]
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He doesn’t exactly know how to comfort, but he matches Day’s grip for a moment. It’s okay. He’s here. They’re here.
Then - he relaxes his grip so that it’s still firm, still sure - but not a vise. As though trying to show Day that he can do the same. There’s no need to desperately clutch something that’s right here. ]
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Sorry. [ Because he must seem incomprehensible and needy right now. ] I just... I thought everyone forgot 'bout me again. [ "Again", because that's the truth that Day saw, and he's too tired to think about what it'd imply to Ginger. ]
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… How many times has it been, Day?
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Well. Cat's out of the bag now. ]
...You ain't gonna like the answer. [ In a roundabout way, he's asking: do you want to be burdened with that knowledge? Because lately, he feels like he's just been asking Ginger to shoulder his burdens with what he tells him, and he hasn't done nearly as much in return. ]
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[ And so what does it matter if Ginger finds out? It can't make Day feel any better when he seems so, so low already. ]
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Twice, under different names. [ Identities he had that no longer exist now for whatever reason. ] ...Once, as "myself". [ And that's the one that truly bothers him. ]
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Day…
[ And so he thinks the same will happen again once this is over. Ginger won’t dwell on the identity problem just yet.
(How different are Day and his real self?)
(But ‘Day’ is real to Ginger, to the people he’s met here. Surely, that counts for something.)]
Do you want to - Can you tell me about the first time?
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The fingers on Day's free hand drum against his knee, as he tries to decide where he should start. ]
Well...first of all, how mortal do you think I am, Ginger?
[ Because talking to Malice made Day dimly realise that he isn't actually sure how many dots Ginger has connected, if at all, or what sort of assumptions Ginger's been working with. He's pretty sure his attitude has nixed any possibility of being immortal from Ginger's point of view, but otherwise, he doesn't know how much Ginger understands about mortal lives, either. ]
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[ Which isn't the same as mortal. He takes a moment to explain, using their hands as a link: this side is Ginger - divine, sinful and immortal; across this line is Day and he is - blurred. Mortal enough, but long-lived enough that Ginger can't feel where his mortality ends. ]
I think... you'll die one day, but it won't be for a long, long time.
[ And when he does, Ginger wonders what name he will be remembered as. He wishes he knew; and wishes he didn't. Because if it's not Day, he doesn't think tears will be enough to express the sadness he'll feel. ]
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Got that right. I guess you could say I'm...a mortal with a bunch of extras tacked on. [ Which he realises is a rather crude way of explaining it, but it makes sense to him. ] I can live pretty darn long, assumin' I, uh, don't mess up and get myself killed 'fore then. [ Hm. Moving on. ] But...not a day more than what destiny says I get, 'cause there's always an ending, accordin' to the Maidens.
The Maidens are...I guess basically, my bosses at the top of the Bureau of Destiny. They Choose the agents for their divisions when they're born, but we don't find out 'bout this for years 'til the appointed hour happens. So 'fore I joined the Division of Serenity, I was just some regular mortal down in Creation with my own life. [ And at some point he had to segue from that mortal life to a life working for Heaven. Ginger might be able to guess what that involved. ]
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Which isn’t happening here.
[ Not allowed. ]
… And that’s when you were at the temple?
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But yeah. I lived there 'till I was 16, then I left for the city. Got an apprenticeship at the theatre. I was part of the orchestra, but I understudied for one of the actors. It was... [ ...Hm, even now he still feels something about it, huh. ] It was pretty nice. Felt like I was steppin' towards a dream.
Then I actually had to fill in for him, and the appointed hour came.
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[ Then the appointed hour came and the dream was left to die. Ginger’s thumb rubs the back of Day’s hand idly, as though trying to soothe some of the pain of a dead and rotting dream. ]
Was that the last time you were… “you”?
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To other people? Yeah. [ And his old name simply vanished, like the rain disappearing into the earth. ] But, y'know, the funny thing is, when it came, it didn't feel awful. Felt amazin', even. [ The moment itself, he means. Not everything that came after.
He pauses for a long moment, trying to find the words to explain something he's never actually tried to describe to anyone before this. How does he explain what it means to be marked by one of the Maidens, by the stars and fate and destiny? ]
...When I was on the stage, and the appointed hour came, it was like...for a moment, I could see every possibility. Every string and thread of cause and effect for every choice, and I could pick 'em out with a glance. The world sang with... [ His brows furrow, an appropriate term escaping him. ] With star-music. One moment where I heard celestial harmony, or somethin' like that. And I think that was the first time I knew what it felt to be tied to somethin' bigger than myself.
[ And then that moment passed, and every tie he had to the rest of the world was unceremoniously cut. ]
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And what answers he can’t find, he asks. ]
So you… remember everything about “you.” The original “you”? And what about “Day”? Who is he?
[ He has somethings he wants to say, but for now he’ll wait a little longer. ]
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"Day" is... [ ...Damn, he probably has to explain something else first for this make sense. ] The reason why I can't stay in people's memories is 'cause my fate is hidden from the world, yeah? Same goes for the rest of us in the bureau. So the world won't acknowledge me, 'less I'm right there and they're forced to. And as soon as I'm not, out of sight, out of memory.
It makes our work difficult, so we have to work 'round it somehow. "Joyous Day"...is an identity I wove from the stars. A Resplendent Destiny that represents a role that the world will acknowledge me as. Kinda like slottin' myself in the world's destiny, even if it can't really be "me".
[ A beat. ]
Mighta made the mistake of makin' "Day" a lot like my old life. [ You know, the thing every senior Sidereal has told him to proceed with caution about? ]
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[ Day is what Ginger will be calling him until he's asked otherwise. ]
The thing I'm confused about is... how could your fate be hidden when you don't exist in singularity...? Once you interact with another being, your paths have crossed and your fate has touched theirs. Erasing their memories of you... affect more than just you. Even for a being like me - especially for a being like me, actually.
Do you know how angels and demons die?
no subject
But at the second part, Day sort of just...laughs. It's a very dry laugh that could be interpreted as bitter, or even self-depreciative. ]
See, there's somethin' funny 'bout that. You would think it works that way, but what happens is—they forget me, but not the stuff I did. So there's just a bunch of gaps and wrinkles where there are things that matter to them but they can't remember who it was from, yeah? People are real good at tryin' to fill in those holes with whatever makes sense, most of the time. Fate helps iron stuff out. It ain't like I cease to exist in the world, more like whatever's left behind gets assigned to something else.
[ Which...maybe some things will take on a different light or make a different kind of sense to Ginger now, with that explanation. Day isn't sure. ]
...How do angels and demons die? [ Why does he feel like he is not going to enjoy this answer, ]
no subject
When… we live so long that the years don’t count for much, what else marks pivotal changes in our existence but memories. These important moments mark our growth in eternity, they shape us. When we lose them, we… unravel.
[ And it starts small, your fingers first maybe - a little more transparent than the day before. Until… ]
We can also die through injuries, but we’re not involved in any more wars, so that’s less likely.
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(They are, probably, still holding hands, so this is also probably going to look quite silly in a bit.)
The fact that Ginger brought this up concerning how Day can't stay in memories is relevant, probably. Probably? He doesn't like it one bit. And this isn't a problem of whether or not Day matters enough, at least from Day's point of view, it's just—it feels so arrogant to assume he might be so important that he could change someone in such a way. He's been in and out of enough people's lives to know that even if he's changed their lives a little, it's not the same as being something they'd want to hold onto or being a mark (or scar) that stays. It's not a matter of self-depreciation or anything, it's just how life and people work. Maybe worrying over this is just selfish of him, the forget-me-not heart wanting to be self-centered enough to think he's that important to someone.
But he—he has to ask this. Because if there's even a 1% possibility, a certain priority is going to be moved to the top of the list, immediately. ]
Ginger, I... don't take this the wrong way— [ Gods he must be nervous to have to preface with this line, but he's already said it. ] —but are you sayin' that if you forget me, you might die?
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[ He should have said something earlier but… He sighs, part frustrated at himself, but mostly… apologetic. His hand tightens around Day’s. ]
It’s so rare, that I didn’t even think to bring it up - before. It’s not that I forgot, obviously. Just… You know. I still should have said something earlier.
[ He can’t remember the last angel or demon who died in such a way. That’s how rare. ]
But… yeah… that’s what I’m saying. At the very least, forgetting you will change me in some way.
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I ain't mad or blamin' you, for the record. What were the chances of you meetin' some guy who's fated to be forgotten by the world? [ Said dryly, in the kind of tone of someone who just knows that somewhere, fate is laughing. If the stakes involved weren't "Ginger's life", he'd find this ironically funny. ] If anythin', I wouldn't be surprised if you got mad with me instead. [ Because through sheer accident, Ginger's crossed paths with someone who's a potential threat to his life just by existing as is. ]
...I do have some— [ he can't really call it good news yet, he guesses, ] —better news. That I was gonna tell you anyway, but this kinda makes it more relevant. [ Funny how things turn out. ]
[ A beat. ]
And a kinda messed up thought, but maybe one you'd get, 'cause of the whole possessiveness. [ Which is something he's willing to voice only because he trusts Ginger, and hopes Ginger trusts back about as much. ]