Someone might knock on the doorway and if she looks up, Muraki will be just entering. "I saw your notice in the main room," he says. "I've some experience in dreaming, though it's more at the mystical end of the discipline."
He's a little too glib about it: he's avoiding something, or building up to it at his own pace.
A little too glib indeed. Helen sighs as she finishes her note from the previous encounter, and puts her pen down.
"Come in, Kazutaka, and if you have something you need to say, by all means, do so," she says tiredly.
There's always a bit of sour joy when she sees him, now that they are no longer lovers - she likes him, still, and is grateful for his friendship, but part of her misses him, too.
She's sorry also that she could not give him what he wanted - it was, alas, too much to ask of her.
He'll enter, eying the couch a bit thoughtfully before seating himself on it: he'd rather be cuddling with her on it, to be honest, but that's a dream that's not coming true. "I will admit, I don't dream much: I try to avoid it, if I can help it," he says, straightforward. "Likely not a healthy course of action, but that's why I'm here."
Helen settles a little more into her armchair, makes a listening sound. She wonders how one can avoid dreaming - one’s subconscious is possibly the most difficult part of the self to control, and it is impossible for most, in her experience.
“What is your hope?” she asks, more gently. She’s slipped into her professional shoes, and is going to be ignoring their past baggage, if she can.
"I suppose my hope is like everyone else's: to find my niche in the world and maintain it, to find some measure of stability and tranquility even in the midst of the disturbances that life throws one's way," he says, keeping things in general terms.
"But more specifically... I hope that the choices I've made in life haven't entirely deprived me of my humanity," he admits. "I hope that as I change, part of me remains the same..."
Helen tilts her head to the side, considers this. "Might you explicit your terms? What do you call your heart, your spirit, and your soul? You seem to suggest they are three different concepts..."
"By my heart, I mean the emotive aspect of my self; by my spirit, I mean my personality and passions," he explains. "And by my soul, I mean the supernatural aspect of myself that will, in one way or another, live on after my death, whenever that happens. I can't help but wonder if I've forfeited it, after I gave in to my own demons."
"I suppose you're right and that's one thing which I likely overlooked, in the midst of my whirling thoughts," he says, managing the faintest hint of a smile. "But considering the things that I have done, the deals that I forged with my own inner demon, that I wonder if I've forfeited the very thing that makes me human."
“The question you raise is at the core of philosophy,” Helen replies thoughtfully. “What makes us human? Is it some innate goodness, caring? Questioning? Our ability to suffer, and to love?”
She chuckles a little.
“How many intellectuals have tried to resolve this riddle? The numbers are astronomical.”
"It's one part philosophy and one part ...biology, for lack of a better term," he says, with care.
He's not sure that he wants to play this card, but he approaches it with care. "Do you believe in the preternatural, that there are entities who lie somewhat between the natural and the supernatural?" he asks.
"You're likely familiar with sanguinarian vampires, either as a legend or perhaps as the odd phenomena that's cropped up among young people in a fair number of cities," he says, starting off carefully. "But what would you say if I were to tell you, there is a secondary form of vampire, a living person leading a relatively normal life, who needs to sustain themself from the lifeforce of others, usually by using strong emotions of some kind as a catalyst to aid the absorption process...
"And what if I were to tell you that I am one of these very beings?" As he says this, the air in the room might seem to change, taking on a strange charge, even a kind of heaviness. It's not as strong as it was back in the days when the phage was active, but it's detectable...
Helen was going to say that she's of course familiar with Bram Stoker's work, was going, later, to offer that she is aware of codependency, which has been sometimes referred to in popular terms as emotional vampirism.
She opened her mouth, then paused.
It's just a slight shiver, smaller than one could explain - but the window is closed and she is wearing a warm sweater.
He's a little too glib about it: he's avoiding something, or building up to it at his own pace.
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"Come in, Kazutaka, and if you have something you need to say, by all means, do so," she says tiredly.
There's always a bit of sour joy when she sees him, now that they are no longer lovers - she likes him, still, and is grateful for his friendship, but part of her misses him, too.
She's sorry also that she could not give him what he wanted - it was, alas, too much to ask of her.
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“What is your hope?” she asks, more gently. She’s slipped into her professional shoes, and is going to be ignoring their past baggage, if she can.
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"But more specifically... I hope that the choices I've made in life haven't entirely deprived me of my humanity," he admits. "I hope that as I change, part of me remains the same..."
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"Which part of you are you hoping to keep intact?" Helen asks gently, only to keep him talking.
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Helen feels the protective gloss of professionalism cracking - she still has feelings for Muraki, though she fights them, of course.
"Ah, Kazu-kun," she says gently, "do you not think that fearing for your soul is enough indication that you may have been redeemed?"
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She chuckles a little.
“How many intellectuals have tried to resolve this riddle? The numbers are astronomical.”
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He's not sure that he wants to play this card, but he approaches it with care. "Do you believe in the preternatural, that there are entities who lie somewhat between the natural and the supernatural?" he asks.
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She slips her hands under her chin, delicately, and looks at Muraki with intelligent and knowing eyes.
“What is it, Kazutaka?”
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"And what if I were to tell you that I am one of these very beings?" As he says this, the air in the room might seem to change, taking on a strange charge, even a kind of heaviness. It's not as strong as it was back in the days when the phage was active, but it's detectable...
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She opened her mouth, then paused.
It's just a slight shiver, smaller than one could explain - but the window is closed and she is wearing a warm sweater.
"Are you?" she whispers.
She already knows the answer.
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