"I have coins in a couple currencies, I can get you some units in all of them." He slides into the passenger seat, since Harry's taking the back seat.

"Veron Chandler, professional lost person, pleasure to meet you," he says, offering his hand to David and trying on a smile.

"David Aleister Livingstone Dresden, ostensible sibling; also a pleasure, but I don't shake."

He smiles, possibly at a private joke. His gloved hand taps against the steering wheel.

"I understand," says Veron amiably, taking his hand back. He glances between Harry and David. "Are you two, uh, identical twins, or do the genes run strong...?"

David glances at him. It's a very piercing glance. Then he starts snickering.

"You could say that," he says after a bit, "if you didn't mind being wrong. I'm his soul. Charmed to meet you."

Harry yelps slightly. "Is that not privileged information anymore?!"

"You haven't Seen him properly, have you. It's very... illuminating. In every possible sense."

Veron blinks. He peers at David confusedly.

"His... soul. I thought those needed to stay on the inside for everything to be hunky-dory. But okay, sure, walking around and talking and things. Uh. Thank you for your trust in me?"

"I'm still connected to him. I'm just... being sociable. You should try it sometime, lightbringer."

"Why do people keep calling him that! And being creepy!"

In lieu of response, David turns to Veron. "Would you be alright with my brother taking a look at your soul? It'd make him much less confused."

"Lightbringer's just kind of a thing I get called now, it's not just your circle of acquaintances," he says, to Harry.

Then to David: "Uh, yeah, sure? It can stay on the inside for this, right, I don't need to stop being an only child?"

"Don't worry, it'll stay right where it is."

David catches Veron's eye. His own eyes are deep and black. Like a gateway into nothing at all.

There's a sensation of falling. When it clears, Veron is on a hill, David standing regally next to him. They overlook a tower, toppled a thousand times and built back up every time. The stones are blackened with lightning strikes, cracked with cannon-fire, covered with ravenous ivy. But still, it stands strong.

"It's been a while since I've been here," David muses. "That's his soul, if you were wondering. Me. Not so pretty as yours, but we make do."

Veron attempts to say something like, 'It's a perfectly nice soul,' or 'Wait how do I know the history of this tower so well,' or 'You didn't mention the soulseeing would be mutual.' Instead, what comes out is a, "Bwuh?"

For his part, his soul's less... object shaped. He is certain of what he is, and unfortunately this does not easily pin itself to a single building metaphor. People are flexible, and so is he. A lighthouse on a dark shore, burning bright and brilliant for any ship that has decided to come to port. A warm inn in a shadowed wood, a heart with room for travelers that need an understanding ear and a place to rest. A candle in a vast expanse of ice, small and fragile and stubbornly lit despite the frigid wind. Tied to ice and shadow and just a smattering of prophecy, and belonging to none of them. 'Lightbringer' is an appropriate enough title, in cases where dark is evil and light is good, for he does leave little bastions of light and warmth in his wake. It's missing some nuance, though. He is fit for such extraordinary titles, but they do not quite fit him. 'Candlemaker' is perhaps closer. Simple and apparently ordinary, but saving the people he visits from the dark that haunts them, leaving them with something to light their way, if they only have the courage to ignite the wick.

And they're back.

"Huh," Harry says dizzily. "Lightbringer, okay. You're very something."

"I, um," he says eloquently, blinking rapidly and feeling a bit like he just did something rather intimate. "Thanks, I, um." Words sure aren't coming to him, are they. Instead what he's got is a stutter and a faint pink coloring to his cheeks. What a shitty trade, he'd like to switch back now. He decides to stop rapidly blinking like a dolt, in favor of closing his eyes entirely and remembering to breathe.

"I don't know about that—that thing about your soul not being as pretty as mine. I don't think they work that way. It's a perfectly nice soul, you have a lot to be proud of, let's not, not make this into some kind of contest." There. Actual words that came out of his mouth. Excellent. Go him.

"Aw, thanks! I- don't get that a lot. Yours is really nice too." Harry's not blushing. That would be stupid. 

David raises one eyebrow very slowly, then effortfully slides it back into place and starts the car. 

"Thanks. I um. I try." Awkward pause. You know what it is a good time for? It is a good time for a subject change.

"So, um, what's. What's it like having your soul walking around, being a person? Were you just always this way, or did David decide that he wanted to be an outside soul and then it just. Poof, out he is, walking around and being a person?"

"I am atypical," David clarifies. "Most people's souls aren't sentient when they're still inside. But for unknown reasons, I was. I served as a representation of his subconscious and played devil's advocate, sometimes literally. But then he walked into an interdimensional bar and used the inherent magical properties of someone else's universe to externalize me. It's one of our more inexplicable misadventures. And you can't just decide to have a daemon-" he hesitates. "Editorial 'you'. You-as-in-Veron... maybe. You've got a lot of potential for metaphysical change you're not really using."

That would make sense, with the knowledge of his own True Name. He has some impressive power over himself, it stands to reason he could use that to do the weird soul thing. If he wanted to. He's not sure he wants to.

"... Huh," he says. "I maybe could do that. If I tried to. And probably also put my soul... back. If it wanted to go back, anyway. I wouldn't want to make my soul a person and then later try to stuff it back in if it didn't want to go there." On the other hand, the thought of his own soul silently screaming at him about things, completely unable to affect the world or be heard is... definitely a thing. "Are there downsides to this thing? It seems like a very personal thing, to have running around out in the world."

"There are what you might call downsides. The obvious: if your daemon dies, so do you. The less obvious: unless you go through a rather painful process of separation, they won't be able to be more than a few feet from you without severe discomfort. The really unpleasant: if any other human touches them, you will both be consumed by a sensation for which 'pain' is only a pathetic euphemism. I think the ability to tuck one's daemon back inside would neatly circumvent most of those problems. Of course, my own method is only usually effective, yet I still prefer to exist."

"It'd neatly circumvent those problems if my soul wanted to go back inside. If it didn't then I might be looking at those downsides, which sounds uncomfortable. But I guess my soul would be... me... so it'd ultimately be what I wanted? What we wanted?" He makes a face. This is confusing. He doesn't feel like he contains two people. "I don't think my soul wants to be an outside soul, but I don't know how I would check. I mean maybe my weird whatsits could let me ask my soul. I could try that?"

"Judging by the other person we met, typically daemons are less, ah, independent than David. Path really seemed more like... I don't know, almost a subroutine of Amariah. They were totally in sync. I think you're safe."

"You have the advantage that barring some highly unusual circumstances, your soul will not have been awake for thirty years growing more and more bitter every time you fucked yourself over because you couldn't or wouldn't take their advice. That seems to have something of an effect on the relationship."

"Um." Veron considers whether he'd have this kind of relationship with his soul or not. He hopes not. It sounds uncomfortable. Reflexively, he feels kind of bad, just in case he maybe has accidentally been upsetting his soul by ignoring its advice. Is he enough of a dolt to accidentally ignore and then offend his soul? He doesn't think he's that much of a dolt.

"You know, when you put it that way I think I would like to check."