accidental video -> text; sunday morning
[The video clicks on softly, with little static or feedback normally associated with angels. It's broadcasting from a rooftop, pointing off-kilter slightly to take in the panorama of Adstringéndum's horizon in the early light of dawn. The sky is striped and bright, the sun only just peeking over the distant horizon to paint the city and Wastes with
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Why are you asking?
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[Welp. It was his stupid Grace she "died" to retrieve, after all. She can tell him easily because she knows he doesn't care a whit, making the conversation much easier than Gabriel or Castiel... or anybody else who cares.]
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What is causing it?
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Apparently it is their world's answer to the Colt. Nothing can survive it.
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You'll likely return.
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[But she hopes. Desperately.]
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[He's really not sure why he's bothering to tell her such things. If she disappeared, it should be a great relief, and her dying should be something of her getting a taste of her own medicine. But though he doesn't truly feel bad for her it doesn't really feel like justice either, for some reason. He doesn't understand.]
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Raphael does not understand it, but she can recognize progress- as can any good general. For it, she switches over to video; the first person to be freely shown her face. It looks exhausted, unhealthily weak, and dimmed- in a normal person, that would be sadness. The only time she's willingly exposed to him her weakness.]
My time was my own death. Do not present me with lies.
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He almost remains on text, still uncomfortable speaking to her face to face, be he too can recognize progress. Eventually, he decides to go ahead and change his as well; he looks tired, as usual, and a little pale and weak from his fever, but clearly not that worse for the wear.]
That's not what I meant. I meant that at any moment, even in this conversation, one of us could be returned to our world. Upon death here is no more likely a time for that to occur than any other.
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Death here may not be what it should, but it is still a more likely time than any other specific time to vanish without returning.
And what of price?
[She pauses, a little uncomfortable with herself. She normally makes statements, demands, proclamations. Not baldly asking questions, especially not of him.]
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[He's quiet at the question, pausing for a moment while he decides how--and whether--to answer. He's still not certain why he feels like he should respond, why he feels like he should try to help, but he does anyway.]
It can be something of great import, or something deceptively minor. An item, a memory, an attribute. Anything.
More than what it is, the issue is whether it is worth losing it in favor of returning.
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Surely you've considered Rachel Berry. [Staring him down as intently as if this now-insignificant, meaningless little ant has the power to give her answers. Almost daring him to disagree with her.] No measure of life...
[-is worth it. Could ever be worth it.]
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[At that stare, he lifts his chin slightly, staring back evenly at her. She can look at him however she wants; he doesn't care.]
What of her?
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Do you know her price?
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