[Your consciousness drifts in to the sound of discordant whispers. It sounds like a hushed argument in another room, something you can't quite catch. You're cold. Your skin tingles slightly, and then...]
What you're doing here, apart from "staying." What your story is, what you represent. What other things I don't know and what's different from what I do. Ultimately, I'm looking to see what I can do, so there's a lot of things. It bears investigating.
[This room is all in blue and gold. It's also very rich and pretty, and there's a full length mirror on one wall. Sitting in front of it, in profile to you, on the edge of a dressing bench, is... you. An older you, worn just like Tristan was. But this you also seems to have recently gone through quite the ordeal. His clothes (ornamental finery that doesn't even suit you now, let alone in the glimpses you may remember) are torn open down his chest, hanging off his left shoulder entirely. His throat is dark with the bruises of strangling, and he's idly poking at a rather gruesome hole in his chest. It's a kind of big hole. Honestly no one should be alive when it looks like someone's ripped straight through to their heart.
He doesn't look up when you come in, but acknowledges you all the same.]
[ He hopes to avoid such a fate, himself. But that's only if he gets so lucky, he knows. And he's not questioning how this Jupiter knows he's looking for answers either -- the answer for that, at least, is obvious. ]
[He gives a slight huff, tugging his clothes back over his shoulder. It partially obscures the wound, at least, and he doesn't seem concerned about messing with it.]
[ Still, it's strange to just leave some version of himself in that state. He might not have healing magic, but... Jupiter shrugs off his own coat, holding it out on offer. ]
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Here specifically, I'm checking on you and trying to find answers.
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Let's start with why you're not the one to ask?
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Then, if that is all, I'll leave you here. I should be looking around other places too.
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[He seems to want him out. Something about this room is definitely unwelcoming to strangers.]
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He doesn't look up when you come in, but acknowledges you all the same.]
I see you're being thorough.
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[ This is a sight to take in. But after a moment he nods, and walks over to this other self of his. ]
Just so. I should have expected this.
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[He doesn't seem inclined to do anything about the gaping wound. He's just kind of examining it like. Huh. It doesn't seem to be hurting him, either.]
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You know you shouldn't mess with that. Though all things considered, it should be fatal anyway.
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[He glances at you, sideways, considering.]
You wanted answers?
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[ He hopes to avoid such a fate, himself. But that's only if he gets so lucky, he knows. And he's not questioning how this Jupiter knows he's looking for answers either -- the answer for that, at least, is obvious. ]
I do. Do you think you have them?
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Tristan never likes giving answers, does he?
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[He gives a slight huff, tugging his clothes back over his shoulder. It partially obscures the wound, at least, and he doesn't seem concerned about messing with it.]
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Undoubtedly. Here, take this to wear instead.
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...Thanks.
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[He's fine obviously. Gosh!]
You have questions, don't you?
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[ But he won't push it either. ]
I do. I'd like to hear what you're doing here.
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[ He looks around the room, before moving towards the mirror. ]
And will this take me elsewhere too?
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