[ Of all of the things Paimon is, he is also aβ sensitive thing. There's a certain detachment towards others, towards humankind, by default; and yet among his kind, Paimon in particular is capable of a sort of attachment. He is the only one of his brothers to require an offering in order to be summoned in the first place. That gesture is one that deepens the bond between himself and whomever is at the opposite end. Hands must extend an offering, and he must reach to accept; contact is made.
He is sensitive. To energy, to will and desire, to the nuances of human strength and weakness. He must be, in order to provide for them what he does. Though he's lost much of himself, diluted and watered down and now confined to certain human limitations in this place, he still... feels more than any normal human can. It's there β his sensitivity, prickling like a living thing.
Her overloaded emotional state as a result of his own bursts in him, a spark of illumination. And whereas he was overwhelmed by everything moments before, he is learning, and very quickly, that this is okay. What connection is here between them is powerful and unstable and he'sβ okay with that. It burns, but not painful. He... seeks it, this stimulation, this direct flow from someone else into himself, where he has been so numb and so alone for so long.
He feels so alive.
But she's shirking from him for a moment, pulling back; she's tired, and he does know, through Peter, that the witch-girl has been ill. He doesn't quite understand that he must be especially gentle with her, however; he still has very little control over his own mental voice here. It causes a certain curiosity to perk its head in him, but he falls silent when she uses his name, immediately halting. She says his name. That is power, and he will respect it. He waits awhile before answering, and when he does, it's: ]
Careful. Please.
[ He repeats the words β not as an instruction to her, but simply as an.... imitation of the words themselves. He even very subtly imitates the tone of Luna's mental-voice. Sounding them out. Careful please. He does grow quieter, but mostly because he's still imitating what she does, how she feels. The softness she's displaying now, the careful way she gingerly reaches back out for him. He flutters a bit more gentle when she does. He doesn't explicitly remember what curses are, not yet, and yet deep-down he understands. Those run as ancient as him, too, but he knows, somehow, that they aren't involved with him. ]
Not curse.
[ ...The question, though. 'What do you want?' He understands what she's asking, but not how to answer. What...does he want? Does he want anything? Has he ever? His memory is still filled with empty spots and mixed-up places, and for a moment he thinks what he wants is Mom and he doesn't understand why. Something in him aches, and then at once he becomes afraid.
The question β the implication of it β frightens him. It's the unknown. He doesn't know.
Mere seconds ago, he became more gentle as she had, and yet all of a sudden he isn't anymore. Undulating, constantly shifting like waves, Paimon changes again β quickly. He shudders terribly sharp, and in his sleep, Peter frets again, fingers curling into bedsheets. The demon is a second heartbeat, pounding too hard, too cutting. It hurts; the boy, still asleep, frowns as that ache leaks from him. ]
I want you. Talking to. I want you to hold. Hold again? Me? You hold me. It was nice. This is nice.
[ He knows "nice" because of Peter. He's said it before, often, about things Luna has done, and Paimon's slowly picked up on the usage. Garbled, confused, the demon reels out the words, the only thing he can make sense of in the moment: an immediate, simple want, which is Luna's hands to hold him the way they once had those months ago, palms to his face, soothing him down where he'd been so fitful and upset in Peter. She'd comforted him. No one ever has. He's never been capable of being comforted that way. ]
Hold again. I want you to.
[ He just.. repeats it like he's stuck on a loop, and Peter is giving whimpers now, the sounds soft but progressively rising as he shifts uncomfortably, pained, in his sleep. ]
[ For a moment, she thinks it's mocking her β the way it softly breathes back her words, the similar tone to her own. Some kind of childish mockery at her discomfort. But it... doesn't feel like that. It's something else. It's... more of an awareness, perhaps β maybe it knows? She doesn't know. The abandon it feels with is almost childlike β and like a child it mirrors her, as if looking for the right way to communicate. Maybe it doesn't know any better.
But it's apparent that it's difficult to really work Paimon out, even as she speaks directly to it. She's only left with more questions, more wondering. Not a curse. Then perhaps some kind of being? She's likened it to an animal before, and now a child. She doesn't seem much further forward. Luna sighs softly, the grumbles of pain heard in it as she rubs at her temples. It's exhausting, but at least when it parrots her, it's some kind of a reprieve β even it it's incredibly short-lived.
Paimon surges again at her question, restless and sharp against her. Her hands grip her head again, jaw tensing. It's afraid. She tries to hush it, calm it down β mental reaching outwards to attempt to soothe it. But when it finally answers her, cold shock bursts in her: I want you. She snaps back from him, her eyes widening.
And she realises: it hadn't been Peter. When she'd first held him in the classroom, or when she'd sworn she'd seen some kind of remembrance in Peter's eyes when she'd reached for his face on the deck of the Titanic. It had been Paimon. Reaching out for her: You hold me. It was nice. ]
It was you. I comforted you. You'd broken free, in the classroom. And then... you remembered me, when Peter didn't. I saw you in his eyes, on the ship. I saw you.
[ She can feel it, hear it. Lost below Paimon's noise, those soft little sounds of sleep, of quiet distress. In Paimon's shadow, Peter stirs in his sleep and she can hear it β more attuned to him, a little more sensitive to that pain. Alarm flashes in her, making her gasp; fretfulness prickling as she reaches for the pain β she wants to soothe it.
To feel Paimon is one thing, but it resides in Peter's head β surely it can only be more sharper for him than what it is for her. And right now it worries her. She's naturally a little more hardier, even if she's weak right now, able to withstand a little more β Peter isn't. ]
Don't hurt him. [ Her voice trembles, pleading. ] Pleaseβ please don't. Be calm. Like when I held you, yes? Don't hurt him.
[ "Careful please" isn't forgotten β but in the moment, Paimon's too saturated with feeling, with energy, with fright and excitability all tangled into one unbearable pulsing presence. It's too much. He's too much; this is wrong, and he can't handle what he is, doesn't know how to handle it. Only she can help him β but she isn't here, she's somewhere far away, and he feels terribly alone, and overwhelmed in himself. He aches, and Peter aches, and the feedback from one another is a confused, nightmarish loop; untilβ
'It was you. I comforted you.'
The demon draws in a slow, long sound, a sort of rattling, like a breath. Yes... Yes. She had. She had comforted him; that's what he was trying to convey. It was nice. She remembers, and she's putting it into a more capable form now, using words he's not able to, recollecting those experiences for him. Paimon's still making that odd reedy sound, like strained breathing, hanging desperately onto her words, for what they mean: 'I saw you.' Yes. Yes.
He rocks mentally, remembering, gleeful to be remembered and seen, those feelings echoing back to her. It changes the shape of his fright, softens the edges of it immediately, allows him to focus on her again, and at once he realises, feels, that she'sβ upset. Worried, aching with it.
She's pleading with him. Toβ stop hurting Peter, and the name flickers unpleasantly through him, sending him shuddering again, but through that displeasure is a worse one. He doesn't want to upset Luna, to hurt her. She says please don't and he freezes again, trying to understand how he can give her what she's pleading from him.
Peter. He'sβ hurting Peter. He feels that now, feels the clenched ache of muscle and nerves, feels Peter whimper softly in his sleep; it's too much for him. Hurting the host has been necessary to keep him weak and soft enough inside, but now isn't one of those necessary times. This is different than "careful please". This is a direct plea. 'Please don't.'
Paimon doesn't know how to detach himself from the boy enough to stop hurting him. They're intertwined; the surges of his emotions and feelings run through Peter like electricity. He can't detach from him. So he does the opposite β seeping in deeper, retreating into the depths of his young vessel, somewhere away from those raw nerves and aches. Peter stops fretting, slender fingers gently loosening their subconscious grip in sheets, but now the demon's gone from Luna, the connection between them fading as he fades into Peter. It happens quickly, everything lapsing into sudden silence, save for Peter's soft breathing.
At once, Paimon's exhausted, fluttering only very softly before the last piece of him fades unceremoniously into quiet safety for all three of them. He softly mourns the loss of Luna's gentle presence in here with him, so suddenly after finally getting to speak with her, but he gives this comfort to her as she's asked for it β and that in turn makes him feel a sort of contentedness that runs to the root of him, even a sort of happiness. He will speak with her again. For now, she must be at peace. ]
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He is sensitive. To energy, to will and desire, to the nuances of human strength and weakness. He must be, in order to provide for them what he does. Though he's lost much of himself, diluted and watered down and now confined to certain human limitations in this place, he still... feels more than any normal human can. It's there β his sensitivity, prickling like a living thing.
Her overloaded emotional state as a result of his own bursts in him, a spark of illumination. And whereas he was overwhelmed by everything moments before, he is learning, and very quickly, that this is okay. What connection is here between them is powerful and unstable and he'sβ okay with that. It burns, but not painful. He... seeks it, this stimulation, this direct flow from someone else into himself, where he has been so numb and so alone for so long.
He feels so alive.
But she's shirking from him for a moment, pulling back; she's tired, and he does know, through Peter, that the witch-girl has been ill. He doesn't quite understand that he must be especially gentle with her, however; he still has very little control over his own mental voice here. It causes a certain curiosity to perk its head in him, but he falls silent when she uses his name, immediately halting. She says his name. That is power, and he will respect it. He waits awhile before answering, and when he does, it's: ]
Careful. Please.
[ He repeats the words β not as an instruction to her, but simply as an.... imitation of the words themselves. He even very subtly imitates the tone of Luna's mental-voice. Sounding them out. Careful please. He does grow quieter, but mostly because he's still imitating what she does, how she feels. The softness she's displaying now, the careful way she gingerly reaches back out for him. He flutters a bit more gentle when she does. He doesn't explicitly remember what curses are, not yet, and yet deep-down he understands. Those run as ancient as him, too, but he knows, somehow, that they aren't involved with him. ]
Not curse.
[ ...The question, though. 'What do you want?' He understands what she's asking, but not how to answer. What...does he want? Does he want anything? Has he ever? His memory is still filled with empty spots and mixed-up places, and for a moment he thinks what he wants is Mom and he doesn't understand why. Something in him aches, and then at once he becomes afraid.
The question β the implication of it β frightens him. It's the unknown. He doesn't know.
Mere seconds ago, he became more gentle as she had, and yet all of a sudden he isn't anymore. Undulating, constantly shifting like waves, Paimon changes again β quickly. He shudders terribly sharp, and in his sleep, Peter frets again, fingers curling into bedsheets. The demon is a second heartbeat, pounding too hard, too cutting. It hurts; the boy, still asleep, frowns as that ache leaks from him. ]
I want you. Talking to. I want you to hold. Hold again? Me? You hold me. It was nice. This is nice.
[ He knows "nice" because of Peter. He's said it before, often, about things Luna has done, and Paimon's slowly picked up on the usage. Garbled, confused, the demon reels out the words, the only thing he can make sense of in the moment: an immediate, simple want, which is Luna's hands to hold him the way they once had those months ago, palms to his face, soothing him down where he'd been so fitful and upset in Peter. She'd comforted him. No one ever has. He's never been capable of being comforted that way. ]
Hold again. I want you to.
[ He just.. repeats it like he's stuck on a loop, and Peter is giving whimpers now, the sounds soft but progressively rising as he shifts uncomfortably, pained, in his sleep. ]
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But it's apparent that it's difficult to really work Paimon out, even as she speaks directly to it. She's only left with more questions, more wondering. Not a curse. Then perhaps some kind of being? She's likened it to an animal before, and now a child. She doesn't seem much further forward. Luna sighs softly, the grumbles of pain heard in it as she rubs at her temples. It's exhausting, but at least when it parrots her, it's some kind of a reprieve β even it it's incredibly short-lived.
Paimon surges again at her question, restless and sharp against her. Her hands grip her head again, jaw tensing. It's afraid. She tries to hush it, calm it down β mental reaching outwards to attempt to soothe it. But when it finally answers her, cold shock bursts in her: I want you. She snaps back from him, her eyes widening.
And she realises: it hadn't been Peter. When she'd first held him in the classroom, or when she'd sworn she'd seen some kind of remembrance in Peter's eyes when she'd reached for his face on the deck of the Titanic. It had been Paimon. Reaching out for her: You hold me. It was nice. ]
It was you. I comforted you. You'd broken free, in the classroom. And then... you remembered me, when Peter didn't. I saw you in his eyes, on the ship. I saw you.
[ She can feel it, hear it. Lost below Paimon's noise, those soft little sounds of sleep, of quiet distress. In Paimon's shadow, Peter stirs in his sleep and she can hear it β more attuned to him, a little more sensitive to that pain. Alarm flashes in her, making her gasp; fretfulness prickling as she reaches for the pain β she wants to soothe it.
To feel Paimon is one thing, but it resides in Peter's head β surely it can only be more sharper for him than what it is for her. And right now it worries her. She's naturally a little more hardier, even if she's weak right now, able to withstand a little more β Peter isn't. ]
Don't hurt him. [ Her voice trembles, pleading. ] Pleaseβ please don't. Be calm. Like when I held you, yes? Don't hurt him.
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'It was you. I comforted you.'
The demon draws in a slow, long sound, a sort of rattling, like a breath. Yes... Yes. She had. She had comforted him; that's what he was trying to convey. It was nice. She remembers, and she's putting it into a more capable form now, using words he's not able to, recollecting those experiences for him. Paimon's still making that odd reedy sound, like strained breathing, hanging desperately onto her words, for what they mean: 'I saw you.' Yes. Yes.
He rocks mentally, remembering, gleeful to be remembered and seen, those feelings echoing back to her. It changes the shape of his fright, softens the edges of it immediately, allows him to focus on her again, and at once he realises, feels, that she'sβ upset. Worried, aching with it.
She's pleading with him. Toβ stop hurting Peter, and the name flickers unpleasantly through him, sending him shuddering again, but through that displeasure is a worse one. He doesn't want to upset Luna, to hurt her. She says please don't and he freezes again, trying to understand how he can give her what she's pleading from him.
Peter. He'sβ hurting Peter. He feels that now, feels the clenched ache of muscle and nerves, feels Peter whimper softly in his sleep; it's too much for him. Hurting the host has been necessary to keep him weak and soft enough inside, but now isn't one of those necessary times. This is different than "careful please". This is a direct plea. 'Please don't.'
Paimon doesn't know how to detach himself from the boy enough to stop hurting him. They're intertwined; the surges of his emotions and feelings run through Peter like electricity. He can't detach from him. So he does the opposite β seeping in deeper, retreating into the depths of his young vessel, somewhere away from those raw nerves and aches. Peter stops fretting, slender fingers gently loosening their subconscious grip in sheets, but now the demon's gone from Luna, the connection between them fading as he fades into Peter. It happens quickly, everything lapsing into sudden silence, save for Peter's soft breathing.
At once, Paimon's exhausted, fluttering only very softly before the last piece of him fades unceremoniously into quiet safety for all three of them. He softly mourns the loss of Luna's gentle presence in here with him, so suddenly after finally getting to speak with her, but he gives this comfort to her as she's asked for it β and that in turn makes him feel a sort of contentedness that runs to the root of him, even a sort of happiness. He will speak with her again. For now, she must be at peace. ]