Re: [B&B: Nish & Atticus & Aiden, entrance]
“I do remember my initial death.” But that hadn't been the question. As to when he had kicked the bucket the first time, he only had a vague idea. The human brain was funny like that, only able to keep a certain amount of information over a period of time. Like his real name, the numbers around his time of death were shadowy regions in his mind at best. He could provide the name given to him upon his assignment, no harm in that. “Aiden.”
It fit well, the scraggly man and an ocean of books. Aiden could have used someone showing him the ropes, or letters to be more precise, a long time ago. The alphabet hadn’t been easy, neither had been the study of a foreign language, all autodidactically poring over anything he could find to read, with little knowledge of what it all actually meant. Some context would have been nice. It had taken him a small forever to get to the actual content and nuances in English literature. No running before you can even crawl. The man was collecting more than just books, though. “You also curate your ghost collection.” It wasn’t a question, as far as he could tell it was fact. Spirits flocking to the human who could see them, possibly interact, giving them some sanity to cling to.
He let the man recite his quote, noting the slight imperfection in the middle. Still nice. Words were nice, comforting somehow, like a blanket of life to wrap yourself into, even if they held no real meaning most times. The man did look ill, pasty pale and not quite there, a little too transparent in spirit, although his soul seemed to be glowing brightly, more so when he spoke of his passion for the written word.
The hinted query about the existence of heaven and in extension of it, also hell, remained unanswered. It wasn't for mortal beings to know. Even Aiden wasn’t in the known, he only delivered to doorsteps, usually there was no peeking beyond the gates. Naturally his initial reaction to spirits being referred to as some sort of blessing differed greatly from Atticus’, no matter how indifferent he was to the world surrounding him. If the girl wanted to keep her dreadful shadow, who was he to interfere? People dug their own graves all the time and to him the woman was standing in a deep hole, still shoveling away happily. “I can send it over or leave it be.” Didn't call the soul by the name it no longer had. It wasn't fully James anymore, not a separate entity either. “But make no mistake, there’s no happy endings coming from it, only sorrow.”