Understanding

[Nyx]

Thousands of questions danced little circles in the very, very confused mind of Nyx. How had Aurel not died? How had he come back from the dead? How was he in two places at once? Who was that on the roof of Central? Was the man next to her an imposter? Was the man on the roof an imposter? Were they both imposters? Did Aurel even exist? And what of Hild? If Aurel didn't exist, did Hild ever exist? Balthazar, Niko, Hei, Daemon, Kido, Surrealis, Vani, Valeria, Cora, Rebecca, Dietrich, Ace, Jeu-Hee; was her whole life a lie...? No, no, no... All those people were real, she was sure of that. But then... Was Aurel real? She still couldn't answer that question... But then... Was she real? Maybe this was all a dream; she'd wake up, before Aurel ever launched his attack, before he'd ever entered Creta. She pinched herself, and glanced down at her arm, mildly curious as to why she felt a sudden jolt of pain in her arm; not surprised, not disheartened, nor did she even seem to register feeling it. No, she was merely contemplating what it meant; had she a spinning top, she'd spin it; she was unconvinced. But, for all the confusion pulsing through her like the blood in her veins, she still walked on, following Aurel without a word. Wait, when had she decided it was Aurel again? Maybe it had always been Aurel. Was she Aurel? No, that was stupid; she was still Nyx, Aurel was a figment of her imagination. Or... Or was he? She really didn't know anymore. At first she'd been glad he was back; far too enraptured with his return to even ponder just HOW he'd returned, at the time. These thoughts hit her about five minutes later.

Well, in a world that now seemed surreal and illogical, she still held onto her power of reasoning and logic, some slivers of rationality. She had a lot of questions for maybe-Aurel, and he had a lot of explaining to do... But why would they do that on the sidewalk? Stepping off to the side, squeezing his wrist ever so slightly, telling him to follow her, she entered a little café. It was a Cerisian styled place, and while it mainly served various coffees and teas, food was on the menu. Of a few reasons Nyx had entered the building, this was one. "Hello, sir. Could I have the Chicken Parmigiana, and an order of the zucchini and shrimp spaghetti? Two plates, please. Dank u~" She'd become quite good at putting on a cheerful expression; was her happiness real? Didn't seem so... Was the pasta she'd ordered real? Hmm... Based on smells from the kitchen, yes, it was real.

...Was the kitchen real? Did she even smell anything? No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. No.

No.

She wasn't going to lose her mind over this. She just had to calm down and think rationally. Right... She led Aurel into the seating area, and chose a quiet, dark booth, in the corner. It was lonely in the restaurant, everyone was far too concerned with the chaos unfolding not too far away; in fact, it hadn't surprised Nyx that the man behind the counter had, at first, drawn a shotgun from under the table. They could have been Drachman terrorists, for all he knew. RIOTE, even. Well, what he didn't know couldn't possibly hurt him. Nyx was just glad he seemed not to have recognized Aurel. He did... Look different. Or did he? More proof he wasn't Aurel. Or was it? She didn't know anymore. So she sat down across from Aurel, and looked at him. What to ask first...?

"What would you two like to drink?"

Unimportant... But, as they had come to the café, she figured it best to order anyways. "Mmm... Raspberry lemonade, thank you." Turning away from the waiter, she looked outside, through the window, before turning back to Aurel. Moment of truth, maybe? Yeah, moment of truth. "Hmm... How to put this..." She seemed as confused as she was, if that was any use. "Hmm... Aurel... Who are you...? Really?" A simple question, in all actuality; but she knew there could be no simple answer to it. Staring into the soothing fire-and-ice she knew as his eyes, she waited for an answer, fully unprepared for what she was going to hear.

[Aurelius Schwartz]

"Hello. Is this 2012?" A nod, telling him his convictions were indeed correct. Well, good. What came next was astoundingly unexpected, however. Her eyes, which had been wet seemingly from watching Central be tainted with his counterpart's troops, were wiped dry. Dry, she threw her arms silently around him, no knife concealed, no intent to kill him. A bewildered expression seeped onto his exterior, landing him in a place he hadn't been since leaving Evelyn behind in the past. Heart in his throat, everything stopped. He saw her body lying soulless on the pavement, enveloped in screams and those black, black hands falling from nightmares. He'd left her. He left her there and went. Everyone was dead, their eyes unseeing, their faces masked in ruin. Small hands clasped around his center. She knew him, but he did not know her. Guilt. Suddenly, he felt guilt: an unusual disposition. It nearly swallowed him in the moment, disturbing his already unsettled memories. This time, he did not forget: Stephona's final gift, fleeing, meeting a man from the future whom he had sent back, Evelyn Havoc's house burning down, giving her Stephona's gift, Xan, the balance, transcending time... Here he was. Realization hit along with the guilt. He pulled her away, but she took his wrist lightly, mismatched eyes alighting upon the small watch around her own.

Was this really the future? Had his memories become tangible--had they taken form? Before him was that gift--the first thing he had ever been given, laying carefully around the pale wrist of a little girl who seemed to know him. Stephona's gift, the one he had given again to Evelyn as her house burned to the ground. Had she achieved her dream of becoming a nurse, he wondered? In this time, certainly she was already dead. So how--why? That watch, the time still ticking, in use by another--in possession of another--had once again...found him. Unconditionally he followed this girl; disregarding the war--disregarding his own proposed death, he followed her. Anywhere, no matter where, he was right beside her walking while glancing at the sky for answers that did not come.

In the city he had lived in for most of his life, Aurelius was lost, guided only by that tiny grip. Blindly, they took to the streets, ducking around tanks and uniformed men in a hurry. A Cersian café was open, catering to the military men all yapping about the battle suddenly ending with the death of the man standing just behind them. Along the way, he'd swiped a hat, concealing his face and his appearance to the best of what was available. No one was looking for him anyway; he was dead. Or so they all thought. Even so, a shotgun was pulled from behind the counter and rightfully pointed at them, yet lowered upon registering the child leading him. There was no way she could be a terrorist--one of the enemies, no. He knew better and was wrong. Hah, misinformed miscreants! If only that trigger was pulled, everything would resume its wary path to self-destruction. That was why he had left to begin with, forfeited his time, his past, his memories... Still, as more time passed, Father's crackled words continued to be recollected into his mind--the throne--the agonizing separation. His energy was drained; he was empty. In another time... "Hello, sir. Could I have the Chicken Parmigiana, and an order of the zucchini and shrimp spaghetti? Two plates, please. Dank u~" ...

He blinked and already things were happening so fast. There were no seconds in between, just suddenly there. Answers--he needed answers, but still--still enraptured by someone whose name he did not even know. The seating area, filled with a freshness he could not yet grasp. It was entirely new--everything. So entirely new. He let his eyes list closed, mumbling falling into the background of bustling people and the au courant means. They sat in the corner, Aurel as far away from everything else as he could possibly be in this location. His eyes opened, refocusing, reanalyzing, reconducting in a mismatched hue of red and blue. Nothing had changed; he was still here.

"What would you two like to drink?" She replied with something he had never heard of.

"Same." He didn't know what they had--what changed--what was possible...anymore.

"Hmm... How to put this..." The waiter left. Window bled smokey sunlight. Aurel's attention was fixed on her and her alone. "Hmm... Aurel... Who are you...? Really?" She knew his name. He smiled, rigidly, somewhat pained with a lack thereof of a response.

"Come now, you cannot expect me to answer such a thing so offhandedly. More importantly, who might you be? An ancestor of Evelyn Havoc perhaps?" He paused, finding himself at a loss. Should he have answered her first not knowing if she was a spy? No. No matter what circumstances may equip, he must always pursue the divination of the master plan.

[Nyx]

The first thing Nyx noticed about Aurel, or maybe not quite Aurel, she still had no idea, was that he'd ordered raspberry lemonade, the same as she had. What was peculiar about this was that Aurel had never really seemed to be particularly fond of the drink; he might would drink it now and then, but from what Nyx knew, it wasn't quite among his favorites. Shaking the thoughts aside, that was when she'd asked her questions, and upon recieving his answer, a question to a question, her eyes widened slightly. Not just that Aurel had turned the tables on her, but also for a few other reasons; one, he didn't seem to know her (further proof he wasn't Aurel.). Secondly, his charm and charisma were as nice to hear as ever (proof that he was legit.) And lastly...

Lastly, she recognized the name. Evelyn Havoc... Glancing at her wrist, she slowly, slightly entranced now, her curiosity piqued, removed her little gold watch. Flipping it inside out, the face pointing inward, she read the inscription on the back; "Stephona... Evelyn Havoc... Lillian Havoc... Nylia Havoc." Each name was engraved in a column of sorts, in descending order; she'd never quite understood what any of it meant, but she'd assumed it was some heirloom belonging to the Havoc family, whoever they were. She had no idea, all she knew was that she'd had it for as long as she could remember, and even when Gregory had "adopted" her, she'd kept it hidden well enough that she held onto it for the whole three years of her life in that awful place. The last name kind of struck her as interesting... Nylia. She liked that name, it was pretty.

"I've had the watch since... Well, I don't really know how long. Since I was born, I guess. I don't know who any of the people are, though..." Glancing up at Aurel again, from the watch, which she extended to him to look over, if he desired to, she stared once more into those mismatched eyes of his. Unmistakably Aurel's eyes... Nyx had a way with vision, at least partly due to her chimeric side, a side she very much loathed, but it did help sometimes; she could tell that neither eye wore contacts. Legit. Could anyone pull off a feat like that...? "So wait, Aurel... You really don't know who I am...? It's me, Nyx! Nyx Schwarz." It wasn't often she used his name as her name, or at least, not usually in his presence, but she had, for a while now, taken to claiming it as her surname, a mark of her identity; she had no other name, so why not? She'd always felt like a daughter to Aurel anyways, or at the least, that he was as much a father figure as any man could ever hope to be to her, surpassing everyone, even Niko. "Well... Not really Schwarz, but you know why- well, no... Do you...? No, no, if you forgot who I was, that wouldn't make any sense... So you don't really know it, but you're the closest pers- no, no. You are my father, Aurel, or at least, were... I don't know anymore, I'm confused... But Aurel, can you promise not to do anything like that again...?" And, as with all moments in need of little but silence, a waiter arrived with their drinks, though Nyx's gaze never shifted from Aurel, her violet eyes locked as tightly as they could be on his red and blue ones, as if every second she had looking at them was precious, something she may never get to do again.

[Aurelius Schwartz]

She extended her wrist. Already so easy--so easily he obtained what he desired. Leaning close, "Stephona... Evelyn Havoc... Lillian Havoc... Nylia Havoc." he touched her wrist with icy digits, feeling the gold against his fingerprints. Survived all those years. How ironic to have come across him now. Narrowed eyes alight with a strange glint, he shifted them from that one engraved name and into those clueless violet orbs holding him hostage. Eve was dead, what, two generations? He shifted uncomfortably, letting go his grip and leaning his head onto that palm instead. Hm. Quite baffling it was to find that someone so lively could ever grow old and die. She had children with someone else: a daughter. How pretentious to name her Lillian; he couldn't quite grasp why. Rather unlike her. Still, the one possession she had was passed down, kept, respected to this very moment...under his gaze. He too would have been dead much before this time, yet here he sat, unfazed by transcendence. Perhaps he was the pretentious one?

"I've had the watch since... Well, I don't really know how long. Since I was born, I guess. I don't know who any of the people are, though..." Ah, so she obtained it not through inheritance then? He brushed his lip with a stray finger, avidly assessing each contrary flutter of an eyelash. She wasn't lying. Yet he hardly believed anyone related to Eve would give up such an old heirloom. ...Unless a decrease in monetary means left them desperate--desperate enough to sell it. To a young girl that's had it since birth? No. No, that was impossible. Her parents would not purchase an antique to give her. Usually, something new went with something else new, (in this case a baby). There was a missing piece, of that he was certain.

"Why did you not engrave your name? Clearly it appears to be a trend." He paused, gauging her reaction with steady transfixture. Maybe being not a Havoc, she felt it wrong? But wearing it since birth, surely the transfer of ownership would have taken root enough to consider the idea. Going by generation, Nylia Havoc should still be alive unless an accident of some sort befell her. Only then, could this situation preside; however, Aurel placed his stakes on another idea entirely.

"So wait, Aurel... You really don't know who I am...? It's me, Nyx!" He did not need to ask. Names and who one was were entirely different subjects. Surface level. For now, it was enough. Nyx. He had his answer. Oh, how ironically similar to Nylia. "Nyx Schwarz."

"Schwarz?" He blurted out, traces of horror staining his voice. H-how could that be?! No--no, it wasn't possible! There was enough pause to yank his eyes away, staring in bewilderment at the window. Tall buildings. Shoes on sidewalks. Clambering sounds consistent outside. Passing by--passing--gone. How could he have a daughter? How old was she? Surely not two. If the year was indeed 2012, how could he have...? Adoption. Right, that had to be the answer, of course. His eye contact trailed back to her, engaging, locked, suddenly trapped once again in questions.

"Well... Not really Schwarz, but you know why- well, no... Do you...?" No, he didn't. "No, no, if you forgot who I was, that wouldn't make any sense..." No, it wouldn't. "So you don't really know it, but you're the closest pers- no, no. You are my father, Aurel, or at least, were..." F-... "I don't know anymore, I'm confused..." Mildly offsetting. "But Aurel, can you promise not to do anything like that again...?"

"I cannot," he answered immediately, but the waiter had arrived with-- What on earth was in his glass? He paused, lost for a moment in the odd color. What did these people of the future ingest into their bodies!? It almost appeared as if it were some kind of radioactive chemical... A frown formed effortlessly onto his face, a sweat drop forming. They expected him to drink that...? However, his offset expression was soon replaced by a callus smirk. She was not looking from him to the drinks, not for a moment. "Nyx is the name of one of my title bearers." He placed his other elbow on the table, leaning forward with wry eyes. "It is not your real name, Nylia." A shot in the dark. Hit or miss, he still dodged the question.

[Nyx]

As she had extended to him her hand, and the watch with it, she didn't break eye contact for at least a few seconds as he examined it, but then directed her attention on his hands. Most would have said they were cold; icier, far less human than other hands. Most. Nyx wasn't most. She didn't think his hands were cold; not at all. Nothing about Aurel was ever cold to her. From the sometimes deadpan tone of his voice to his calculating, often apathetic mental workings. All of that was on the surface, not what was underneath. Underneath, he was complex, that much Nyx knew. What she also knew was that, like anyone else, he was human. At times, he seemed more than that, but in all actuality, at least on a physiological level, he was human. Human, and nothing else, no more, no less. Even taking his altered genetics into account, the strange beast he had been transformed into, as she to an eagle, he was but human with a bit of extra bits and parts; no different from her, yet far superior in every way. She couldn't follow this trail of thought but so far, alas, because she would only confuse herself more, but it was for these reasons, above all, that she admired Aurel so. No man alive stood at his level.

As the pair pondered, each their own thoughts, she allowed her eyes to trail back up to watch him again. It was funny; her eyes, half-avian, pierced the soul with the power of a bird of prey, bright and strong, while his eyes were different, but similar. They pierced the soul by measure of their content, his own soul, his mind. Moreso than their unique coloration, they were deep, as if you could see through them like windows to the soul, yet foggy, opaque; one couldn't grasp Aurel's innermost thoughts, nor even the most obvious of them, for he was not the type to make his thoughts obvious; Aurel was never see-through. As he seemed to finish looking over the watch, Nyx calmly spoke, without moving her hand, as though he could keep it there, to further examine the watch, if he should so choose. The main reason, however, was to keep her hand in his, where he had been looking at the watch. She didn't want to move it.

His question was a good one. Why hadn't she engraved her own name on the watch? If every owner prior to herself did so, why had she not? "It... Didn't feel right. Not a moral rightness, though; it just felt like I didn't have to, like I wasn't supposed to." Honest answer. Honesty was something of great importance at the time; she felt as if to be dishonest, or to not tell the entire truth, something she would never do to Aurel anyways, would interfere with her getting the answers she needed. Likewise, she felt that everything Aurel said would be the truth, be it blatantly true, or wrapped in riddles, as enigmatic as Aurel was, in general.

It was at that point that she knew something was off, and that Aurel had amnesia or something. So she reintroduced herself to him, and his reaction caught her off guard. No sooner had she spoken her adopted surname than he had repeated it, his own legitimate name, and the tone of his voice; shock, maybe? Nyx jumped slightly, blinking, eyes suddenly widened, and her wings fluttered briefly, but fiercely, in surprise. What? What had she said? Quickly, she made a hasty recovery, attempting to explain herself, as she regained her own composure, while reflecting how strange it was; Aurel didn't blurt things out. Ever. It was just... Weird. A sign of the apocalypse, maybe. Ah, no matter. Shifting her hands finally, she retracted her arm that had, until then, been across the table, and leaned down beside her, gathering a small handful of the feathers that had come loose when she jumped out of surprise, and placing them on the seat beside her, trying to help the staff keep the floor clean. Seemed strange to have feathers lying around, someone might assume they were slaughtering chickens in the back, and God forbid PETA gets wind of it.

As she looked back to Aurel from her self-imposed task, his answer was as expected. Thus, with a sad smile, she nodded. "I knew you'd say that. Well, if you could, I'd like you to try. I don't want to lose you again..." She resumed looking into Aurel's eyes, possibly to find answers; there were none. She was, however, amused slightly by his reaction to the lemonade. It was peculiar; not the drinks of course, but the fact that he seemed genuinely astounded by the orange-tinted red liquid, thin and with tiny bits of lemon pulp drifting about. He'd seen it before, but then, maybe he hadn't. She didn't understand it, but she did find it amusing.

He spoke again, and she listened, nodding. Nyx was, indeed, one of his title-bearers. Her own title, actually, and as much a name as she'd ever had. Her whole life, in fact, she'd never known her name. At the orphanage, it was Teal; it had been Jane, for a brief period, because she'd been left at the door, with naught but the watch, though she couldn't remember that far back. Jane Doe, a nobody, a name that meant nothing but the fact she was unknown. A female John Smith, akin to the old Cerisian surname, Esposito, "orphan." Filler. Teal had been what the other kids called her, because of her unusual hair, and she liked it better than Jane. She knew Teal was a nickname, and that Jane wasn't a real name, though. Soon after, she was adopted by Gregory, whom she dearly hoped was still alive; she wanted to see his face, twisted in anger, fear, surprise, and agony, as his own creation betrayed him; briefly, as she pondered names, she wondered why there was no feminine equivalent to Judas, Brutus, or Cassius. Any of the three would suit her well as she met her old antagonizer again, after four years. He had called her Seraphim Perfectio; Subject SP, his "perfect angel." Less of a name than any, nor a title she had born willingly. Nyx Schwarz; as much as she wished it was her name, it was not, nor had it ever been. Nyx was, as he'd said, a title, one of RIOTE's leaders, the titlebearers. He'd singled her out, found her almost immediately after her escape from Gregory. He'd given her the name, and he had seemed so sure that it was the most appropriate title for her. She hadn't questioned it; at a glance, she'd known she could trust him. Most would have had issues with trust after her experiences. She had been blessed. Schwarz, as such, was taken by Nyx from Aurel, and it was the closest she'd come thus far to a real name.

Thus far.

Aurel spoke once more, moments after, and it seemed that what he said was something she'd known forever. Nylia... Nylia Havoc. That was her name? It didn't surprise her. It really was a pretty name. So that also meant she had family, somewhere; likely dead, but in a graveyard, somewhere. Family Aurel seemed to know, or at least, know of. "Nylia Havoc... Hmm... I think I like Nyx Schwarz better, to be honest. Though it's a beautiful name." She paused briefly, her little mind buzzing with activity, as a sudden thought occured to her; she giggled. "Chaos and Havoc, hm? That's funny... But is it a coincedence, Aurel? Who was Evelyn Havoc?" Breaking eye contact, finally, she paused momentarily to take a sip of her lemonade. She was oddly calm, far moreso than she should be; for fourteen years, she'd had no name, and sought to find it, and in a brief instant, Aurel had figured it out for her, and told her. It made her wonder... had he known it all along? But at the same time, it didn't matter.

All on her mind at the time was Evelyn Havoc and Aurel; Aurel knew her, that was fairly clear. Nyx just knew there was a connection, it was all there before her. Furthermore, Aurel seemed different; not like Aurel at all. She pondered it some more. And the more and more she thought about it... Were there two Aurels? That was the second question, the first being asked already, and she waited for his answers, patient.

[Aurelius Schwartz]

A tiny hand in his lap and honest words. Over the rim of his solemn hat, he looked beyond Nyx. No, it hadn't felt right for her to engrave her name into the age of that watch--she 'wasn't supposed to'. Ah, so she wasn't supposed to? There were no rules stating otherwise, but certainly in every person there was also a subconscious. She already had. That's why. His cadaverous eyes narrowed in retrospect, free hand grasping the condensation on his glass, leaving behind the fingerprints of the most wanted man alive. Best part about it, it wasn't even him. He took a sip and cringed. It was ostentatiously sweet! Breathing cold into the rest; he set it down. A ring gathered on the table, warping the wood into a circle, connecting them all. So she was possibly related to Evelyn Havoc and also to her daughter, Lilian--Nylia's mother. Had the other him known and kept it secret? Without memories of his past, could he have determined this little girl's true name? Perhaps not. Or, if so, had chosen to keep it in the dark? But why? There was no purpose in that--no motive which with to back up such a weightless decision. He tapped his chin, staring down blindly at the watch which caused all this chaos. But there must be more. Why did she not know herself? Had she somehow forgotten her own origins? Or was his shot in the dark mistaken? Aurel did not know. Only now did he feel the true gravity of his ignorance: its biting, care-not trials. So flighty and insurmountable it was. There was no way out of it without asking--without giving in, and handing her, trustworthy or not, the truth.

The truth: so threateningly insane. He erased the collection of fingerprints on his glass with the back of his hand, openly staring at the liquid as many scientists in the past had stared at him before. A peculiar specimen this liquid was, strangely colored with a unique flavoring. He took another sip. It could grow on him if his taste buds were as numbed as the people's of this time. "I knew you'd say that." She most certainly knew him. There was absolutely no question. "Well, if you could, I'd like you to try. I don't want to lose you again..." Again? More query entered his mismatched eyes, touching them ever so slightly with inklings of amusement. To her words, he said nothing, only gazing through them as if through a sheen of fog lurking ahead. He had killed himself, yes. But it wasn't him. The man she knew was dead, yet she still knew the him sitting here now. Memoryless, timeless, the events were real, but Aurels different. He could laugh now thinking about it and all the scientific impossibilities proved in a single moment. How grand it all was to be here now in a place he never would have otherwise. If needed, he could do it all again. He hardly saw it happening, still, the option was there. To have options--many options--was an essential part of the master plan. Nothing would interfere or stand in its way, not even the word 'try' and all its fail-proof promises.

"Nylia Havoc... Hmm..." Somehow...somehow it felt as if she were picking out a dress among plenty--deciding on which shade of lipstick to trail along her inmature lips. Selection, no, this was not that at all. "I think I like Nyx Schwarz better, to be honest. Though it's a beautiful name." He smiled, freed of her hand and all doubt. His own selection was clear to him now, lost no longer in assumptions. Nyx was unconditionally a Schwarz, unfazed, and so strangely serene. Enrapturing--unpredictable, he was taken immediately into awed silence. "Chaos and Havoc, hm? That's funny... But is it a coincedence, Aurel?"

"It might be," he replied. It might just be. He didn't name himself Chaos; he did not give himself that title when he first created RIOTE, no. If the other him did not know of Evelyn Havoc, he could not have purposely done so either. Interesting. Subconscious? Or could he have retained some memories of his past? There were many unsolved mysteries; he could not possibly gather solutions to them all. Aurel had only to play the part.

"Who was Evelyn Havoc?"

"Other than your grandmother?" He paused and shifted in the rigid chair. "She was..." Chin vested into the palms of his hands, he studied Nylia's eyes. "...someone I once knew." He waited for something. Shock? Horror? Betrayal? He wasn't sure. The sinews of pressure growing in his skull was stringing him along; he was tired of dodging the truth. Nyx Schwarz. Schwarz. Letting go of the initial paranoia, Aurel fell abruptly into his own trap. "I was born in 1913, Nyx. You may know me--even more so than others, but you have now much more to acquire. The me you knew before, I predict, did not sustain my prior memories...just as you must have lost yours at some point?" He readjusted the fedora atop his head, the largeness causing it to slunk mid-forehead. He lowered his voice and leaned close. "My black holes have the ability to transcend time."

[EXIT THREAD???]

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