A Universal Weakness Finished PV Persephone

As the study room became more sparse, there was all the more reason for the stragglers to leave. They had found themselves in the awkward situation of being in the room with two strong personalities. Even though their talking wasn’t particularly loud, the emptier the room became, the more clearly their words could be heard. Not only in volume, but in meaning as well. Persephone was like food over a hot burner, if it wasn’t stirred gently, it would boil over, causing a mess and destroying the meal. Flash wondered how often she had been left to stew.

”I’m sorry, I was only thinking of a few probabilities. I was explaining my own reasons, not condoning yours. After all, isn’t it now more likely he might go after you instead?” Flash shook his head. ”Well, not that likely. Maybe the reason he hounded me was because he knew I wouldn’t strike him. There’s more than one weakness to my methods, I compensate for them by relying on others.”

Then, they were alone. It was amazing how Persephone could clear a room. She may as well have gone up to each person individually and shook her fist at them, the way they slowly filed out, as if hoping to not be noticed. She was a fascinating creature to be sure. Her line of thought never rode on complete barbarism, yet seemed ruthless all the same. She had no room in her heart for pity or mercy, and it was felt by all around her like a ripple through still waters. Flash could feel a logic to it though, and he liked things that made sense. Persephone may have not lived by the rules of society, but that didn’t mean she didn’t adhere to a code of her own.

It was only made all the more evident when she offered terms under which they would continue their discussion. Tit for tat. Equivalent exchange of information, no mind games. Flash nodded dutifully, putting his hand on his heart.

”I accept. As difficult as it may be to call two different pieces of information equal.” Now that parameters had been set, Flash felt the latch on her gate unhinging. ”Let’s not waste time on boring questions. I want to know what you’re trying to escape from. Is it your home, your family?”

Flash couldn’t help but posit his own theories, given that Persephone was still young, there was only so much she could have been exposed to. Most children spent all their time with family, friends, and at school, there wasn’t much else to escape from. Not that the school of Hogwarts didn’t have its fair share of children from extraordinary circumstances.

”I’ll answer whatever you think is worth that information.”

@Persephone Barret

@Flash Holmwood

Enviable, almost. On the very edge of something she wished to mimic, to replicate so perfectly that it settled the dust with a wave of its wand. Not only in a matter of succeeding instants had Flash said something completely underestimating the capabilities of the witch that stood before him, but he’d also corrected it and admitted to a previous mistake. The self-awareness of the matter was admirable, though not comprehensible to Persephone, who rarely noticed error in her ways, let alone verbalize it to the enemy. Ignorance followed suit of that self-awareness, distributing ammo like candy, luring her in. A trap? Perhaps, but the bait was almost ethereal. Taking no risks, she left that ignored, likely for the benefit of both parties.

Vacancy swallowed the hall, each student filing out so formally it could’ve been a public fire drill without half the impotent conversation. The gradual falling of the sun could’ve drawn them to other places, to linger where else they were undesired in their nameless habits, though this was doubted. Displaying violence in such a populated room wasn’t difficult, this had been shown before, but it did have its manner of chasing people away. Sometimes Persephone found herself wishing they would stay, watch a scene unfold between opposing forces. Today was not one of those instances though, and a breath of relief escaped her lips. Vacuity was better suited for the unspoken discussion that lay ahead, a smile sewn upon its face.

The hand over the heart movement seemed very extra, but that was shrugged away. Flash was the extra sort of guy, that had been discerned in her days of preliminary survey. “It isn’t, not really except to those who don’t understand the nature of what questions steal from someone.” The proper response to that was more than an answer, some kind of philosophical statement that would sicken her. She preferred literary devices.

It didn’t take long for him to ask the question, the one that had been pondered over by the suspect herself, the void of sleepless nights wondering what was real and what wasn’t. What situations had been hyperbolic and which had truly been that traumatizing. It was more than an absent parent, more than a neglectful one, but the rest of the scenario would never be exposed to the light of the day, shining its eye upon information that didn’t deserve such reward. That was too risky, too hazardous, especially for someone like Flash. He could do things with that information that Persephone would much rather circumvent. It was best to be vague.

“Though I don’t know where you get the idea that I’m running,” She paused briefly, mind enthralled. You could say I’ve done my fair share of cardio for the decade. “--familial issues, I suppose. Nothing that doesn’t occur to one in three children in the world”

Two could play the game of early questions, though. “Why ‘Flash’? Coming from such an esteemed family, as you recall explaining the basis of a recurring scenario that I believe would only occur in a high-class household, I would think they would choose a different name. Perhaps something more difficult to pronounce.” Once again pausing, she smiled condescendingly. “So why call yourself Flash?”

What questions steal from someone... In their last encounter, Persephone had been extremely tight-lipped. Flash had seen it mostly as an obstacle to overcome, but now that her words were becoming more abundant, he could see how her speech writhed with causticity. That had already been mostly established, but the continued exposure made it as clear as day.

She said something vague, something to throw off the original intent of the question. It made little difference, since Flash intended to learn the whole answer to the satisfaction of his curiosity. It wasn’t that he thought his ability to discern and extract it was infallible, but that the determination was actively present. He would be giving her his full attention as long as she would give it to him, and it would be up to her whether she intended to worm her way out of his genuine interest.

”You said it yourself…” Flash offhandedly retorted against her assertion that he pulled that question out of nowhere, but it was said mostly under his breath, feeling insisting she elaborate outright would be useless. If she was worried about divulging too much, he would combat it by giving her more information than she had given him.

She did ask her question in an almost comical way, even though the subject matter was one he was not even slightly comfortable with broaching. He could certainly sense a great humor within her after all, he was sure of it. It might have been a dark humor, but her words seemed to always be slightly playful, despite their harshness. Like a cat enjoying a few cutting observations with a mouse underneath its claw.

”You’re correct in your assumption, no need to dress it up.” Flash gave a weak half-smile, regretting what he had to say, but somehow still enjoying her company. ”My mother chose my real name, she gave all of her children long, self-important names. Greek, even though we have no connection to the country.”

Flash paused in his description to give Persephone a curious look. Hers was also a Greek name, though he had never thought it was strange or out of place. It seemed fitting for her, unlike his own name to him. He wondered what she thought of it. Given that she didn’t specifically ask to hear his real name, he kept it held tightly to himself. If she wanted to know it, she would have to provide more of herself as well. She would have to ‘steal’ it from him, as she put it.

”The name Flash suits me better I think. It’s short, memorable.” Flash felt a twinge of self-consciousness to explain his reason. It was clear that the name change had been a cry for attention, but he had to admit that was the truth. ”My… my father had a lot of his old things in the attic. He used to be very into comic books and pulp novels, when he was a young child. He kept that all in boxes, never threw them out.”

Flash sat himself down, feeling he needed to ground himself. He wondered if she even really cared to hear his explanation, or if she simply wanted to find something salacious to feel some kind of power over him. It wasn’t salacious though, it was just a simple childhood story about a lonely child. Whether she had any actual curiosity, he decided to continue with more detail than strictly necessary.

”I never got to see him much, but I wanted to know more about him. I really loved reading them. Once when I had one of the comics with me, he noticed and started talking to me about it. It was the most he had ever said to me in one sitting, I think.” Flash took a deep breath, followed by a deep sigh. ”The comic book’s protagonist, Flash Gordon, he said he was his hero growing up. Talked about him like he was an old friend. After that I kept trying to get everyone to call me Flash. After a while it just stuck. It felt right, and I like it, so…”

Somehow amidst his explaining he had started to ramble, so he cut himself off. He returned his gaze back to her, his smile still hanging on his lips as if stuck up by pins. He would probably feel better if he knew how she would react to his short story. Perhaps she would be as bored with him as he had warned her she would be.

@Persephone Barret

@Flash Holmwood

Roaming around the castle, perfectly personified as the unheard students that had fled from the Small Hall in the blink of emerald eyes, were nameless faces. The majority, better known as. People who did not matter, people that could be figured out and decrypted given a few wasted moment’s focus. Those who were lucid, square block into square gap and triangular block into triangular gap. It was a desolating epidemic, the simplicity of the population and their lack of self-esteem, something both appreciated and disappointing. To the delight, however, of Persephone, the rare and complex people had not disintegrated into extinction, rather adapted to better disguise themselves among the zombies that didn’t awake from the endless fight. Flash, standing before her and slowly immersing himself in a dramatic recollection of early childhood, was walking, breathing, speaking proof of that. It brought a smile to those tainted lips, lips that seemed sewed downwards permanently. Watching a flower as its petals bloom.

Flash was complex. It was refreshing, the water draining from her lungs and being replaced with the oxygen she’d longed for. This wouldn’t shape the disfigured couple into friends, or even mutual acquaintances, not by default. Instead, it would painlessly mark the Slytherin that stood before her, a simple check mark in the book, as someone to be figured out. A project could be an accurate title, an enigma to be solved over time and without the incorporation of schemes or useless emotions. Flash was a lovely distraction from the others, those that presented opposition in ways that weren’t enviable or fair. Fellow snakes had pulled upon that same intrigue, a puppet master, but the strings collapsed and shattered into fractions, leaving behind the remnants of confusion. They could not be used or manipulated yet, not to an advantage that made the sewing worth the tediousness. Raven hair in a blackened room, burning fire in a hellscape, a freefall. Poetic, but fruitless. Persy wouldn’t let go of them, though.

That smile he offered, fractured and weak, didn’t serve to disguise a suppressed desire to flee from this conversation, true to the name the brunet had claimed for himself. Flash. A flash of hope, a flash of weakness, universal and unescapable. Truthfully, her assuming he’d intended that smile as a malfunctional mask for the melancholy could’ve been, and probably was, a severe under or overestimation of what resided within. Her own grin hadn’t disappeared from the prior moments, only strengthened by the knowledge of just how complex Flash was, how interesting his potential was, the high of a fair challenge completely numbing.

As he recounted the tale of his name change, Persy found herself dexterously pulling the meat from the bone, tearing the story to meaningful shreds and considering the possibilities. This mindless habit wouldn’t be necessary now, Flash presented himself as an open book, the padlock lying broken on the cold floor of the Small Hall, witnesses void. Smart boy, the girl would think, noting the lack of detail regarding his actual name. Would that be significant here? It couldn’t be said for sure, not without knowing the omitted information. Greek. That was deep, symbolic. Of course, she would think that, though, Miss Persephone, Kore, Bringer of Destruction.

Father issues. Tying cinder blocks to it, filling it with kilos of pebbles until it sank beyond vision, that just didn’t always work the way anyone could wish it did. Bare relatability must have reflected on that pale face given the surprise that lurched in her chest, sickening and full of longing that wasn’t meant to rise to the surface of the murky water. Persy’s head tilted, lips separating ever so slightly, thought washing over and morphing that stern, professional gaze into something almost invisibly softer. Understanding, perhaps. With a flash of lightning, however, that gentle overtone in her eyes had disappeared into the thickness of the forest, forever out of sight. Their issues, though rooted in the same authority, were vastly different. Opposites, even.

“Hmm…” The blonde hummed quietly, analyzing the lingering smile that appeared forced and agonizing, staples from his lips to his cheeks. Regardless of the rambling that exceeded the route of the original inquiry, Persephone was rather satisfied with the answer that was received, but a pill slid down her throat, realization that it was a bait for more information. The explanation, including the emotion that shook and tangled in his words, could have been a sympathetic lie. But she needed his name. The lack of it only furthered the curious hunger.

“I had issues of my own with my father, but quite the opposite of yours.” Vagueness wouldn’t leave their presence, that would let down a series of walls and spread the plague from start to finish. “That does shed light on your nickname, but what was the name before that? You said Greek, right? My parents never told me, directly, the implications of the name Persephone. I’ve figured that out on my own, I suppose it is rather fitting. They were vague but things were said, I could confidently say that the deductions made are right on my end.” Something treacherous made from something full of peace and purity. Too accurate for comfort.

Flash spoke brokenly, trying to answer Persephone’s questions with both intimate detail while also keeping anything too revealing close to his chest. He was surprised to notice a significant change in her facial expression, something like recognition, or apperception. It didn’t last long, her face changing in an instant as she listened further. What had it been that drew that expression out of her? As he had finished, Persephone hummed to herself thoughtfully, as if weighing his answer on a delicately balanced scale hanging from her hand. The irreverent comparison brought to mind the idea of Persephone holding a sword as well, which besides her diminutive height, would have struck a fitting image.

Then, to Flash’s relief, she seemed to share more about herself, as scant as the information was. It was her father then, it seemed. She said she had ‘opposite’ issues with her father, though that was vague enough to not be able to snatch the meaning of easily. The opposite of wanting to spend more time with him would be to want to avoid him. The opposite of wanting to be noticed by him would be wanting him to ignore her. The opposite of wanting to relate to him would be wanting all ties of relation to be severed. Perhaps it was all of those things, or none of them. Flash couldn’t start to assume the meaning of the words that she said until he understood the way her mind worked.

He was still in the fledgling process of putting together a profile on her. Getting her to open up about anything was an integral part of that. Less important than the actual details of her life was how she viewed them. Thousands of children live in the reality of having divorced parents, but to each of them the event has a vastly different meaning. Their age at the time, the civility of the break, their frame of mind, the words of their peers… everything on the planet conspired to influence one’s perception of reality. Persephone, it seemed, didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to show her feelings or thoughts, even when given the opportunity to share openly. Perhaps the topic was deceptively sensitive.

She continued by prying further on his side. While Flash had intentionally given the discretion to her to decide what was worthy of her information, her own sharing felt woefully underrepresented, and more often than not sprinkled into her words behind a false sense of unimportance. For instance, saying her name was fitting, and verifying her confidence in coming to such a conclusion. She was indeed someone who seemed to rely on her ability to choose the correct path for herself. Despite being a bit defensive on first inspection, she was actually quietly vindicated in her actions. Perhaps she didn’t trust anyone to agree with her appraisal of events, and therefore kept it to herself.

It was on him, then, to reveal his name if he so chose. He could insist that it wasn’t relevant, or that he hadn’t received enough from her yet to sweeten the pot, but he didn’t think that route was viable. For one, it was only Flash himself who hated revealing his name. It wasn’t as if knowing it brought anyone any real power, it could be found out easily enough if someone went poking around in the right places. It was more like his first conversation with Burnett, one where it was the act of being honest and forthcoming was in and of itself the point to revealing it.

”My name… before that…” Even though he knew it was the right choice to make, to just say it and let her have that part of him that he didn’t want to share, he still had trouble coming out with it plainly. ”It’s… Demetrius Aelius Holmwood. I regret to say that I don’t think my mother gave it all that much thought. I think she only just wanted her children to have names that sounded like they were descended from royalty. She is quite fond of the attention our wealth affords us.”

Ah, he was uselessly expositing again, giving his opinion. What was it about talking about himself that made him add unnecessary extra information? He realized after saying it out loud that it was part of what annoyed him so greatly about it. It was fake. A name meant to bring forth an expectation that wasn’t earnest. All three words had connotations of grandeur. A holy martyr, worshiper of the Goddess of sacred law, a benevolent dictator, a rich and noble family of charity and wealth. How was he meant to be the vessel for such a haughty name? With the name ‘Flash’, he could build a reputation from the sweat of his own brow, instead of false pretenses.

”I don’t feel the same, I’d rather earn that sort of attention by my own merit. Whether my ancestors had been French dukes hundreds of years ago hardly seems to be a factor in my worth as a person.” Honestly, he had to stop continuing to divulge his personal point-of-view. Why was he anyway, had he been caught up in the exhilarant feeling of someone perhaps wanting to hear them for once? Regardless, the question had been answered. ”I suppose your father is the one that I remind you of, is it? He wouldn’t happen to be descended from French aristocracy as well, would he?”

@Persephone Barret

@Flash Holmwood

When he said his name, in such a voice of disdain or discomfort, the small smile that had begun to sew itself onto a stern face, it widened in a manner that rarely overtook the girl beneath, one of great agony. The pain, the sensation as though her hands quivered when they remained stiff at the side of her hip, it was almost joyous, though perhaps it was, but only in the perception of others. It would always be perplexing, how the definition of so many words, something that was born to be factual, became so based upon perspective to each and every individual. A name that was distinctly connected to Greece, like a bridge between to lands, but even Flash himself had stated those connections didn’t exist. This could only set of a domino effect of thoughts, encircled and considering deeply every word that fell, as if each were a mask.

The brunet soaked in emotion, bringing a small smile to pale lips, fingers twirling and tapping at her side, contemplating and listening to him as he spoke, both absorbed. The boy before her, suddenly resembling a reflection in the worst manner possible, he walked and talked as proof of so many ideas that flew through the mind of Persy. That craving for attention, like it was your blood, your air, your nourishment, it was desolate. Did Persephone share that trait with his mother? It was an incredibly odd comparison, of that she was certain, but it would be broken from its base almost immediately. More so than that, but likely not down to the tilt of their noses, the blonde shared this with Flash.

Instead of gifting herself a new name when the one granted on a despairing birth felt so unfitting, she had forced it to fit. Shoving two pieces of a puzzle together, clearly wrong, but stuck there for such an immense amount of time that the images began to melt together into one. Persephone, a name applied possibly from some distant relative that held no authority over the once pure, it was now her, and all that she was. Or, by some miracle of the oracle, ignorant parents had been aware of her, knew her, all before she ever knew herself. Flash had named himself, a means to grip the attention of his unobservant father, but still one that represented the person beyond the vessel. He wasn’t Demetrius Holmwood, and Persephone reiterated to herself that she would never call him that. He was Flash; nothing less and nothing more. Demetrius was little more than a reflection of wealth. Flash, on the other hand, was the boy in front of her. He only furthered this with the following statements, said in what may be shame. Unwarranted. This wasn’t respect. Was it? As a means of protection, maybe, the Slytherin wouldn’t be divulging any of her thoughts on his name.

With only a few remarks, rich of information yet void of process, Persephone’s verdant green eyes began to see Flash, through him, but still staring inexplicably at opaque, brick walls. Having become lost in a train of thought, watching the dominoes as they fell into the shape of a skull, the blonde would’ve been blankly staring for a few instants, the occasional hum of thoughts from her throat. The wrecking ball lingered in the corner, wound up and prepared, but Persy herself had established the rules of the little game they played. To defy that would’ve been a lie, unnecessary deceit for the time being. His question, something that jerked her from the abyss of ego and memories, it would need to be answered. In depth.

“You’ve got admirable skills in deduction. And, somehow, you’re correct. Alexandre Barret, though he was forgotten from that family the moment he left France. He goes back—well, I suppose we go back—each summer. Avoiding the family of course, and whatever vengeance and, well, suspicions they may have. Yes, you reminded me of him. The fake ways of a gentlemen, I guess. That and the now more obvious ties.” Each word had been weighed carefully, spoken with a certain delicacy as though they were fragile, able to break and shatter into more emotional ones at any moment. The facts were given. Taking a deep breath, she eased to a further point. “You’d rather earn that attention by your own merit, hmm? How do you suppose you do that?”

“Before you answer that, if you must....” Keeping it equal. If she pulled no trickery in this game, perhaps neither would he. “You’ve answered my question thoroughly. Do you have another of your own?”

There was, distinctly, a smile on Persephone’s face as Flash spoke. Normally, parts of the face would join together to form different kinds of smiles, Flash was well acquainted with the subtle changes that one could impose to change the meaning of curled up lips. There were sarcastic smiles, disdainful smiles, curious, spiteful, loving, and so many more. The combination of Persephone’s however was one that was hard to crack. Was she delighting, or was she uncomfortable? Could it be both, was that possible? Even then, she stared as he talked, looking something like a teacher waiting for a rambling student to get out the answer as best they knew it after being called on out of the blue.

To Flash’s surprise, his irreverent question had more truth to it than he could have known. While he had heard Persephone speaking French before, he had no idea what that meant. For all he knew, she was spouting a phrase she learned in school, or from a friend. Either way, it wasn’t as though the country of her ancestry meant all that much. It was much more interesting how it affected her father, who then brought his own concoction of problems to Persephone’s life. Vengeance and suspicions? Certainly she knew those words would pique Flash’s interest, he could even visibly be seen brightening at their delectable mystery. She said them in a reserved tone, affirming that it was her father who Flash reminded her of.

Good, that it was finally established. Still, Flash wasn’t likely to be able to change his pattern of speech just to make Persephone more comfortable. Well, he could try. Really, he should. It was something that bothered more people than just her, and a detriment if he wanted to conceal his social status. He wasn’t sure where to begin with such a thing. He heard others talk and could parrot that, perhaps, but how was he supposed to put the words he wanted to say into a context he had no background in? He had only ever been coached on how to talk properly, so breaking that down was an immense challenge. What was the difference between saying something ‘casually’ versus ‘rudely’, for instance? There were a myriad of things to consider, and Flash hadn’t yet put any effort into actually creating different personas. When he changed, it was only ever in tone, subject matter, and direction of the conversation, as well as mood and presence to a degree. He never pretended to be someone else completely, and that was the ‘fake ways of a gentleman’ that Persephone reviled.

Fake… he was starting to get sore at that word. People liked to throw it at him for the way he behaved, but he hardly thought it was a fair assessment. Perhaps they had been scorned by others who had put on a fake face to get their way in the past, but it wasn’t that cut and dry for Flash. Once he removed his masks, there was nothing underneath. A tragic marionette. Perhaps talking to a puppet like that unsettled some people. It wasn’t fake, though, only calculated. They were different things.

She sighed, continuing her line of questioning, as if glad to quickly distance herself from her answer. Instead, she asked him to clarify one of his own points. Flash was considering the fairness of asking him to elucidate more after having given such a short answer herself, when she cut his thinking short prematurely, acknowledging the disparity. A smile of his own found its way onto Flash’s face. She was proving to be, as Flash had hoped and suspected, fair. In a world that was often so completely unbalanced in the way it dealt its hand, it was a relief to talk to people who could be expected to create a balance where there was none.

”Well, naturally, I want to know what made your father become estranged from his family… but at the same time, I worry that won’t inform me all that much about you. In fact… I would much rather know what it is you find so detestable about our speech.” Flash’s smile had become more genuine as he began to shift the focus to Persephone-- other people being a much preferred topic. ”Do you think politeness is ‘fake’? Or is it that you think giving people the benefit of the doubt… or treating them respect before they’ve ‘earned it’ is the thing that is fake? I’m curious to hear your thoughts.”

He would have gladly attended a full lecture if she would give it to him, but he would settle for hearing her point of view. That was the most valuable thing Flash could garner from her anyway, though he expected her to give a short, veiled answer that he would have to pick apart to glean anything of value from. He decided to continue to talk in hopes of securing something more profitable.

”Perhaps you’ll feel more loquacious if I answer your question first. I intended to earn attention by seeking out people of interest and talking to them. Learning about them. Helping them to reach their true potential, ideally... affecting positive change in the world, however humble. With something like that, I hope to become someone of value.” Flash wasn’t sure his answer would satisfy, his feelings on the topic were already vastly expanding. Who he wanted to become and how he planned on achieving it was an often visited topic during his most restless nights. It was hard to explain, especially when it was a sentiment most seemed to find ridiculous.

@Persephone Barret

@Flash Holmwood

Admitting when someone else was right, especially in regard to topics that should consume them in an immortal darkness, it wasn’t fun. Persephone could hardly smirk as she observed Flash, his expression changing from one to the next when a new topic was introduced, differences occasionally microscopic. He was unreadable, he was maddening, but it was all because he was right. The brunet’s face became brighter, like the heavens had shone down and gifted him a puzzle, an enigmatic test-subject, and the blonde had to restrain from glancing away. In this empty hall, there was nothing. There was nothing to direct her gaze at, it was void of life and love and hope and almost everything that had been taken away from her, but also from Flash. The relatability was exasperating all on its own.

Biting her own lip, likely a bit harder than necessary, a smile was forced back onto her features. Part of it was genuine, which was certainly more than could be said for the rest of the majority, but the part that wasn’t was disturbingly contorted and strained. Maybe Flash wouldn’t take notice in the dance of his bliss or would overlook that glare of pain, but it would be present, nonetheless. The longer they spoke, the worse it got. At the reminder that this was beneficial, that this was what Persy had initially desired, some of that tension was released like rain, drenched in exaggeration and oxymorons.

At first, he’d pried on the nature of the Barret family, what separated the limb from the tree and made it grow on its own. It was just a limb, though; it didn’t grow large and beautiful, the leaves weren’t green but rather brown and incessantly falling in fetal position, curling in on themselves. In fear, perhaps. Few branches on that tree, miles away from its source. What had gotten it there, was his inquiry. A hurricane, a tornado, a family disagreement. It went further than morality, it went into basic criminality. Conspiracy theorists, however, would side stubbornly with Persephone before recapping that the moon was a hologram and pigeons were spy-bots. That was a question she would not answer. Luckily for the two, he changed it like a chalkboard, the last one still visible under the weak lettering. It wouldn’t go away, but for now, that transparency would have to be discounted.

Oh, politeness. It was a subject that could drown a city in a pond, tear apart the closest of friends, because it wasn’t natural. The whole idea was a learned behavior, something people are trained to be, something that is composed of artificial kindness to incite a sense of respect. A sense of trust that gets you past the padlocks and into the home, where you rob them blind of everything. Maybe, in a world where Persephone was wrong, someone was simply compassionate for the sake of; no one is completely selfless, here, though. Flash wasn’t. The blonde hummed quietly on the verge of giving a short reply written in blood of condescension when he continued.

Thereby, proving her point. Each word that escaped his lips, in such a timeless manner of concentration, further the idea of feigned selflessness. Help achieve, create a positive impact, the snake almost physically gagged but instead briefly glanced away. Vacancy. Nothing there, certainly not the positive intentions of an invisible inspector. Even if the room were to fill up, greeted with a loathing gaze of poison, the amount of positive intentions in the room would remain the same. No one had those. This conversation wasn’t occurring because Flash wanted to make an optimistic difference in Persephone’s life; he needed intel. And she’d given it to him, a loose tongue as though influenced by alcohol. She could almost smack herself with a burning hatred that seethed beneath the surface.

“Don’t do that. Don’t act selfless. No one can change the human composition, and the human composition is selfishness, narcissism, self-preservation.” The snake said with an ounce of spite, something that faded away with her following remark. “I’m sorry, okay? But you don’t—” Pausing, unsure of why the apology even came to be [influence of the ability Calming Presence], Persy still didn’t meet his eyes again. “Even if you did have positive intentions, I guarantee you that no one else does. As for your question, you’re smart, Flash. You know that politeness isn't what it's hyped up to be, it isn’t kindness, it’s a manner of manipulation. I’d give you another question to make up for that, but I’m thinking I need to go.”

Persephone stared down at the floor with her lower lip between her teeth, as though preparing for it to crumble beneath her, the weight of her physical body and the burdens it carried too much for a castle that withstood centuries. It wouldn’t, though, it was just imprisoning her in that daze. “You’ve heard enough of my thoughts. Goodbye, for now. Jusqu'à la prochaine fois, vous avez gagné, compétiteur.” With that final remark, similar to the goodbye she’d said at the conclusion of their previous meeting, Persephone would turn and walk away.

Persephone exits the thread unless stopped.

At the utterance of Flash’s words, Persephone’s icy exterior seemed to seethe with an untameable fire within. Tiny moves of the mouth, the corners of her eyes, and her ears as she struggled to maintain a sense of aloof superiority against a crashing wave of interest.

Flash had taken for granted that she would be fine with his line of questioning, or with anything he threw at her. By appearances, she seemed to be made of steel, unafraid of the slings and arrows aimed in her direction. That wasn’t wholly true, though. She was still a kid, like all of them. She was just trying to make it through the best way she knew how.

Something about his answer set her off, to a degree. ‘Something’ seeming to be the implication that Flash had pure, selfless intentions with his words. Persephone disagreed to her core, professing the most revealing information of all. That no one was selfless. It was a fair view to have, Flash had read something similar a time or two, but had not given it much serious thought.

That was, he figured anything could be described as selfish if you whittled away at it enough. It was the same as electrons pushing up against each other, technically you could say that nothing is ever truly ‘touching’, but you still ‘feel’. If one were to mince words about what was ‘enough’ to be selfless, then it was true that no one could possibly reach such a goal, it was an inhuman trait by nature of definition. But that didn’t mean people couldn’t be described as selfless.

Flash hadn’t considered much past that, however. When he heard Persephone argue her point with such conviction, he wondered if he could defend his own position with a straight face.

Instead of getting a word in, however, she surprised him with an abrupt apology. Was it the concern on his face? He hadn’t realized it had grown there until the sudden change in friction gave him reason to question his surroundings. Despite the relatively tense mood of their conversations, they weren’t ugly or unenjoyable. On the contrary, Flash was realizing he liked talking to Persephone quite a lot. Perhaps he had been a bit too forceful, as he sometimes did when he forgot himself.

”It’s alright…”

Flash couldn’t say much before she continued, her eyes cast away from him. She told him that he ought to know that politeness was a form of manipulation, rather than kindness. She was also smart, to say that she knew this wasn’t news to him. She let loose so little information, but it was clear then that she was still constantly gathering it. The two were similar in that way. But with that, she started to excuse herself.

There was not much Flash could do to change her mind, he had already been too pushy. At times like this, the reminder that he was a human body on earth and not an otherworldly spectre came crashing down on him. Sometimes he wished he could pick the pieces up off the chessboard and pull them apart completely to see all the things that made them tick. That would… destroy the piece, however, which was not his goal in the slightest.

That was the lesson he learned that month, to treat his pieces with love. That was how to get them to reveal their insides willingly. Love, in that case, was also a form of manipulation, wasn’t it? Flash supposed the definition of manipulation was just as easy to whittle away at as selflessness in that case.

How he would have loved to chatter on and on about world views and semantics with her, only that their relationship was not one of pleasant chatter. Not yet, at least. He had to respect her boundaries. He was polite, after all, and it seemed he had already caused her enough distress.

”It was nice talking to you.” Flash tried to give his goodbye before she walked out. She said one of her own, though the words were in undecipherable French yet again.

There was one word he recognized, however. 'Next time'. That gave Flash reason to smile at least.

Thread closed

@Persephone Barret