It's quite late in the evening.  Most of the household has tucked itself (or themselves) away.

(Calciferbird is  half-asleep, thinking:  How did my bedroom get so crowded?  I don't welcome anyone,
and it's still a major intersection.  Well, at least nobody has started coming to this spare room yet.  Guess they're

not aware she finally got it  it somewhat straightened up.   Was wall-to-wall crap and gardening stuff for too long.)

Nigel:  Nice hideaway you've got here.  

Cal:  Who the hell are you?

Nigel:  Just me.  Hmm.  Lots of interesting things in here.  I'm surprised I missed out on exploring this--

Cal:  You reek of  First-Powers.  Who are you -- some friend of that bastard,  Freyne,  come to find your own entertainment here?   I won't let you--

Nigel:  Well, first, I'm no more than second-generation  as Primaries go.   Second,  I don't count Freyne among my friends.   And last -- I'm surprised -- and a bit sad -- that you don't recognize me -- Calciferbird, is that the name you chose?  Typically quirky.
Cal:  I recognize your kind well enough.   Get lost.

(Ignoring him, Nigel hops up on the storage bin.)  
NIgel:   I asked to be here, you know.  Few would.  And not just because he'll be coming back--
Cal:  He will--?   Where is he now?
Nigel:  Being-- "being contained" might be a good phrase.   They do try to punish him, but it never seems to make a difference.   He's just so damn stubbon -- and strong.

(Cal's mind is racing -- Coming back?  Why?  What the hell kind of contract did their stupid owner get herself into?  Doesn't she know you  can't trust  Primaries?   He had to get ready-- get the others protected, then, before-- )

Nigel:  (suddenly shifts and sticks out his hand)  I'll deal with my disappointment.  Here--
Cal:  Stay back!   I don't trust or want anything from any of you!  Your kind has done quite enough here already!

Nigel:   Stubborn, as always.  I'll help you see who I am--
(Cal just withdraws further from the proffered hand.)
Nigel:  (softly)  I know you're dying.   You know you're dying.   We don't have time for temperments and mistakes right now.

Nigel:   I swear, I am not here to harm you.  
(Something about his manner made Cal want to know, despite the clamouring of every survival sense.)

Cal:  --I knew someone who would say that--

(Nigel lunges, grabs Cal's hand in both of his, and bends into a full-out kiss of the small hand.)
Cal:  HEY!!! What the hell do you think you're--

(As if parts of his mind had been closed away and were suddenly opened to light, Cal is suddenly aware of who the being before him is, and was.)

Cal:  (pulls away and sits down heavily)  Damn.   I'm contaminated.   But being it's you, I'll forgive you.

Nigel:  I hoped.   --You're so cute like this!  I didn't expect  you'd end up so tiny.   Guess ego doesn't mean much in some cases --

Cal:  Stop that.   I'm not your pet, you loon.  
Nigel:  So?  Did I do good?  This-- living like this, instead of being killed at the judgment?  

Cal:   Yeah.  You did good.   It worked out okay, this place.  Up to recently, anyway.

Nigel:  Wasn't supposed to.  You were supposed to hate every minute of your existence this way.   And more than one of them would have tried carrying out the original sentence if they could have found you.  

Cal:  I was so angry--    Being condemned for about the only thing that wasn't my fault,  just because of who was involved.   You're about the only one who wasn't out to rip my throat apart, and you should have been, most of all.

Nigel:  I just don't have the capacity to hate in me.   I saw what was happening.    And I liked you, even though you were arrogant, cold, and  not nearly as cuddly as you are now.
Cal:   You're still as irritating, in that inoffensively marshmallow style of yours --  What name are you going by, now, by the way?
Nigel:  (proudly)  Nigel.  
Cal:  You're joking.
Nigel:  It's a nice, friendly name!
Cal:  Uh....do you still have the same--proclivities as you used to?  You and your mother both.....
Nigel:  Of course.   Want to see?
Cal:   NO.  That still creeps me out.

Cal:  Look -- Damn.  "Nigel" ...Can you cure what's killing me now?  Your kind did it.

Nigel:  I can't.  I am so sorry.  Wish I could just wipe it away, but I'm not that strong.  Before he was a god of war, the one you call Freyne was one of the original shapes of Chaos.   He still draws his power from that.   There are only two others who could  take it away -- one would prefer to see you die, and the other -- probably has gone from these planes forever.  I haven't felt her  presence in ages.  And she probably still would like you dead, anyway.    I am SO sorry--
Cal:  Don't get weepy-eyed.  I know I'm screwed.   It's not like anyone from your heavens ever made anything easier for me.  I'm used to it.

Nigel:   I asked to come here, you know.  When I heard.  I can't cure you -- but -- if you will let me, I can try and keep it in check.  It must be very painful for you--
Cal:  Only most of the time--
Nigel:  I can't stop what will happen.  But I can lessen the pain -- and gain you some extra time.  But I do not know how much -- and  we may reach a point where my attempts will no longer work.   Are you interested?  Will you let me help?

Cal:  Damn.  Damn.  DAMN.  This is too funny....  (he starts laughing)

Cal:  Hahahaha!  Well, one big joke that's all on me!

Cal:  Turns out I'm no better than any greedy mortal I've made fun of for fighting against going into the void.  I'm just the same as them.   Yeah.  I'm interested.  In days.   Hours.  Minutes, even,  if you have them to give--