Voice; UN: Deneuve

[onamissile]

Name: M; UN: Deneuve
Date: 3/1/21
Format: [Voice]

[There's a short blip of silence; Mello knows that even his voice can be identified if needed and traced. But he remembers the pain in his chest. The swirling of the delivery truck's mirror, and everything after that, well — ]

[A sharp clearing of his throat. It's so dry.]

I know what I've been told.

[Everything is bullshit until proven otherwise.]

And I know what I'm expected to believe.

[Definitely lies. And for one: he knows he's died. It doesn't take a previous heart attack in his situation to recognize one when it tears at your chest and throat and breath like a visceral assault. Besides, he was always due for one: wasn't he?]

I don't expect honesty from anyone. [And yet here he is: reaching out. Because what else can he do?] But a Witch?

[Or so he's been told. How appropriate. Another pause; another breath.]

Is this Hell?

[He's seen nothing that leads him to believe otherwise. The mirror with the objects and reflections from home. The things that just don't make sense. Maybe someone will honestly reveal that yes, he's earned this. Maybe not.]

Comments

[onamissile]

I've never worked at a tavern.

[There's a humorous undertone; of course he'd never sink that low. Who is this person?]

But you know me, yea? Tell me about myself. I'm curious to hear your opinion on the matter.

[Indulgence? Maybe. Pride? Absolutely.]

[sing_for_me]

[ Alex frowns, seriously contemplating if he was just messing with her. ]

Yes you did. You were a bartender that overcharged. You’re picky about everything; food, where you live, what you wear. You never give a straight answer but you’re pushy about what you want to know. And you try to dump your work onto other people. You’re stubborn about getting help and even more stubborn about accepting it.

[ Wasn’t she just venting about him now? Though her hurt did start to shift to being upset. ]

But I didn’t hate your confidence.

[ Sometimes it felt like it would rub off on her. ]

And when you weren’t teasing, you were nice.

[ -ish. ]

[onamissile]

[Nice. No. That's where this posture of a girl destroys her argument. Mello has never been nice. Not so far as he can remember. The huff is audible, the annoyance is tangible. What the hell does this thing want, anyway? Hell already has his soul; the earth already has his body.]

Clever.

[But.]

But you're not proving anything. I'm speaking to others, and most of them 'know' me. [His tone is low. Annoyed.]

They say I'm a Witch. I've never dabbled in anything like that.

[Though the supernatural does exist. Shinigami. The notebook.]

You want me to believe you're useful and not just another form of the same thing? Tell me what that means.

[Antagonistic thing that he is.]

[sing_for_me]

So you really don’t remember...

[ This was starting to feel hopeless. If he really did forget, getting him to believe her would be a challenge with how distrustful he was. What else did Alex have to offer other than her memories with him?

She perks up when something does come to mind. ]

I have texts that you sent me.

[onamissile]

[No, he doesn't remember a fucking thing because Mello has never been to hell. Still, he responds, because something in this 'girl's' voice seems genuine.]

[And it's all a trick, a trick. None of it matters. It's working at him. It's a good thing he's on audio and his deep frown isn't visible. He takes a deep, deep, breath. Maybe audible, maybe not. He's not paying attention right now. Exhale. Breathe. Can one even breathe when they're dead? Feels as much.]

Stop fucking with me.

[It doesn't take long for his patience to run thin. If this thing knows him, it knows that.]

Send them.

[Not like it matters.

[sing_for_me]

[ Her hope grows with the silence, hoping it might be enough—-

But it seems to only piss him off more. Even if she insisted all night, he wouldn’t believe her without actual proof. ]

I’m not that tech savvy. I don’t know how.

[ It’s a gamble, but maybe she can use that. ]

But I can show you in person.

[onamissile]

You don't know how to copy and send texts?

[It's a trap. He knows it as much as he knows his blood. Or lackthereof. Mello takes a moment. Stares at the veins in his wrists. Pulsing. Alive. And something... warmer. Witchcraft. Magic. He doesn't know anything about it.]

Nevermind.

[Dismissive.]

I'm dead. [He knows that, too.] You can't hurt me, and I'll snap you in half if you try. [No, he feels no regret with those words. Being dead means being invincible, doesn't it?]

Tell me where.

[Snipped. Maybe he'll show; maybe he won't. Still occasionally glancing at his veins and the way they pulse with something like heat even though he's chilled to the bone. Erasing what just happened before his heart came to a full stop isn't going to happen any time soon.]