Fair enough. When you start to prune, you've been in the bath too long.
[And he's long since gone past that point, taking on an ironic red hue. With a bit of effort — sluggish, tired — Char pulls himself out of the bath and gets to his feet. Even the way he's carrying himself is... off. Normally so precise, so meticulously put together, he no longer radiates that same untouchable aura.]
We don't delay, then. Just allow me a minute to get dressed.
[When Char isn't fine, it's obvious. He takes on an icier edge, no longer a red-hot comet streaking across the sky, but an immovable obelisk. Not unfeeling, exactly. Rather, feeling too much at once. Feeling wicked in the old, classical sense.
At the dressing area, Nishi tugs on his clothes: a white dress shirt, black slacks, the top button left undone. He shuffles back to Lovecraft, a little unsteady on his feet, still lightheaded from the bath.]
[Char will follow along with little comment, listless feet carrying him down the snowy steps until they suddenly don't, his legs giving out from under him. He overdid it, but he had a feeling he would. Self-sabotage can happen even in the bath. The snow, comparatively, feels nice on his skin, and so he lies there. This is fine. This isn't concerning behavior at all.]
[His head lolls against Lovecraft's shoulder, a ragdoll with no will or autonomy of its own. He'll be fine, inevitably. He always is, no matter how his soul is eroded at, stripped away grain by grain.]
...I'm aware. It's a common problem, I've found. Maybe it's my age catching up to me.
[Char is only half paying attention, mind split clean open by the flood of old memories and older wounds that occupy his every thought. Casval. That was a name he threw away a long time ago. How could it possibly have been dredged up from the deep?]
...I engaged in that strife willingly. I hurt and killed and carried out my grudges willingly.
[Char is a walking wound, more mistake than man, but it's nothing he feels sorry for himself over. Among other things, he doesn't have the right to spill any tears over the outcome of his choices, nor does he seek to lick those festering wounds, knowing well that he earned them.]
It would be hard to argue otherwise. I know what I've done is wrong. Monstrous.
[He's tried, hasn't he? Tried to be gentle with himself. Tried to accept his mistakes when they came, to grant himself grace for the times he genuinely tried to make the world better through the dirty work no one else would touch.
But...]
No... I don't suppose I have. And I wouldn't even know where to begin, to be entirely honest with you.
[Where does one begin? Alas, he doesn't know. All he knows is that every job he does is just another thing to put on the pile of sins, and those sins get so many in number that it becomes all one and the same. Why doesn't it bother him so much?]
[He sighs, turning his way to the chapel, still with Nishi in tow.]
Should I offer you solace, then? It does not matter...to me. Whatsoever. What you have done. What you will do. I shall not....be judge. Or executioner.
[There's irony in it— irony that Lovecraft, of all people, who offers so much so freely, when the world he comes from branded him nothing more than a hungry void. True, that hunger is there, but what man doesn't carry his own selfish appetites? Survival itself is selfish. And yet there's more to a man than his instincts, isn't there?
At the promise of solace, Char knows he doesn't deserve it. He never has, but he is, by nature, a man who takes. His fingers knot tight in the fabric of Lovecraft's shirt, claiming without apology.]
If you'll permit me to be greedy enough to keep you all to myself, then how could I ever refuse? I'm yours.
[A pause, steady and deliberate, chin tipped to gaze up into Lovecraft's eyes.]
But before that... what is it you mean to show me?
[His eyes widen a little, even as they stare down, pulled magnetically towards that blue-eyed stare.]
You're mine...? And you wish to...claim me fully. Not just hire me...
[Greedy to belong to another. He never thought it would even sound appealing. Too much has he been yoked to another's needs. Another job. Another contract. Another day. Another year. Another few years. Over and over again. He's tired of people. He's tired of the world. He simply wants to be left alone.]
[But Nishi offered something new, perhaps. He still can't understand it, turning it over in his mind like a stone. It's worried him. Maybe it has to do with his lost memory, and he's more willing to accept it, more wanting to belong. Perhaps because he's longing for what he had with that man from before, and speaking of which...]
...I wanted to. See. If I wasn't imagining him...
[Further and further into the chapel. And finally, the coffin. Inside, as always a dead body.]
[There's a young man inside. This time, instead of a peaceful sleep, his eyes are open. Lovecraft blinks, surprised. Bright robin blue, glassy from death. There's a little rueful smile on his face, like he knows something Lovecraft doesn't.]
[Char peers into the open coffin, and the sight before him—
...Lovecraft will feel him tremble. Not from fear, not the sharp, brief spike of seeing a corpse, but from something darker, something caught between fascination and disbelief. His lips press together, stifling a laugh that wants to spill like bile, eyes fixed on the figure within.
Golden hair, soft as fields of wheat at sunset. Jewel-blue eyes, dulled slightly by death yet still striking. Char shivers again, a tremor of unexpressed laughter and unease coursing through him. Whatever this feeling is, it is neither simple nor welcome.]
...This is the man who held such value to you in life... yes? John.
Is that all you felt towards this man? Friendship?
[Char's tone is even, almost casual, but there's a quiet gravity beneath it— a curiosity pressed like a blade to the skin. Unlike the corpse's soft, blissful smile, Char's gaze is honed and unflinching, eyes sharp enough to cut.]
[Ah... He sees that, despite his efforts not to, he's concerned Lovecraft. He must think he's angry. In reality, Char was simply amused by some terrible thought that crossed his mind, one he supposes he must expound on now.]
I feel a bit like you've conflated the two of us— not that I blame you. I see the similarities.
You say he tolerated everything, but that he terrified others. What about him scared them?
[He says, maybe a bit begrudging for having to admit it. Regardless it is what it is. Nishi didn't choose what he looks like. It must be some cosmic coincidence in the end.]
[...He is glad he isn't that upset, perhaps, though Nishi confuses him even so. He thinks of how to explain, eyes flitting back to that almost cherubic face. But even Lovecraft knows that expression belies something more piercing.]
He's....angry on the inside. He feels things are unfair in the world...so he doesn't...hesitate when it comes to carrying out his orders. He has nothing holding him back...
[A pause.]
His ability was also similar to mine. He had to hurt himself for it. He did not mind...
[It feels about time to leave Lovecraft's arms. His strength has returned enough after he nearly overcooked himself in the hot springs. He shifts faintly, signaling to be set down. Lovecraft's carried the burden of his weight long enough.]
...Is that so.
[Vague words, yet heavy with implication. So his resemblance to John is more than surface deep. Char could have guessed, with Lovecraft's sharp eyes and sharper judgment.]
[Oh, joy. Another life snuffed out before its time. Char bites back any audible disdain, but it's clear from the way his expression fails to shift that he's bothered by something. Many things, more likely.
He remains close to Lovecraft, but he does shift to stare into that casket, contemplating the warm smile on John's cold, lifeless lips.]
...How does it make you feel, seeing him in this state, taken before his time?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
insistence) wrote2025-08-18 04:41 pm
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[And he's long since gone past that point, taking on an ironic red hue. With a bit of effort — sluggish, tired — Char pulls himself out of the bath and gets to his feet. Even the way he's carrying himself is... off. Normally so precise, so meticulously put together, he no longer radiates that same untouchable aura.]
We don't delay, then. Just allow me a minute to get dressed.
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[He'll back up, but he feels that something has changed. Nishi has changed. He doesn't know how, but...]
[Hm. Maybe he's just tired from being in the springs for so long. Lovecraft tilts his head.]
Are you...well?
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[When Char isn't fine, it's obvious. He takes on an icier edge, no longer a red-hot comet streaking across the sky, but an immovable obelisk. Not unfeeling, exactly. Rather, feeling too much at once. Feeling wicked in the old, classical sense.
At the dressing area, Nishi tugs on his clothes: a white dress shirt, black slacks, the top button left undone. He shuffles back to Lovecraft, a little unsteady on his feet, still lightheaded from the bath.]
Shall we?
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[Lovecraft frets a little, unsure what to do. It feels like a different chord, a different melody.]
[He lets the man move forward.]
Let's...go. I will show...what I found.
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[And he wishes he had his ability, but he doesn't. He has to make do with the limbs he has.]
[He doesn't even hesitate. His arms move down to scoop the man up. He is stronger than his thin arms make him seem.]
You...overheated.
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...I'm aware. It's a common problem, I've found. Maybe it's my age catching up to me.
[Says the 20 year old.]
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[Just saying.]
[This is fine. He will simply carry him to the chapel like this, as easy as anything.]
There is more, though. I can tell. You have endured....something. Like strife.
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[Char is only half paying attention, mind split clean open by the flood of old memories and older wounds that occupy his every thought. Casval. That was a name he threw away a long time ago. How could it possibly have been dredged up from the deep?]
...I engaged in that strife willingly. I hurt and killed and carried out my grudges willingly.
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[He sighs. People truly...have so many many wounds.]
[And some never heal, no matter what you do. He has no such wounds. He simply persists. And exists. And never changes.]
Are you feeling guilty over it all?
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It would be hard to argue otherwise. I know what I've done is wrong. Monstrous.
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[The man in his arms, he means. Before he was timid, before he was cruel, before he was wallowing in sorrow, and then...this. Whatever this is.]
Can you not afford...yourself the same?
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[He's tried, hasn't he? Tried to be gentle with himself. Tried to accept his mistakes when they came, to grant himself grace for the times he genuinely tried to make the world better through the dirty work no one else would touch.
But...]
No... I don't suppose I have. And I wouldn't even know where to begin, to be entirely honest with you.
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[He sighs, turning his way to the chapel, still with Nishi in tow.]
Should I offer you solace, then? It does not matter...to me. Whatsoever. What you have done. What you will do. I shall not....be judge. Or executioner.
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At the promise of solace, Char knows he doesn't deserve it. He never has, but he is, by nature, a man who takes. His fingers knot tight in the fabric of Lovecraft's shirt, claiming without apology.]
If you'll permit me to be greedy enough to keep you all to myself, then how could I ever refuse? I'm yours.
[A pause, steady and deliberate, chin tipped to gaze up into Lovecraft's eyes.]
But before that... what is it you mean to show me?
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You're mine...? And you wish to...claim me fully. Not just hire me...
[Greedy to belong to another. He never thought it would even sound appealing. Too much has he been yoked to another's needs. Another job. Another contract. Another day. Another year. Another few years. Over and over again. He's tired of people. He's tired of the world. He simply wants to be left alone.]
[But Nishi offered something new, perhaps. He still can't understand it, turning it over in his mind like a stone. It's worried him. Maybe it has to do with his lost memory, and he's more willing to accept it, more wanting to belong. Perhaps because he's longing for what he had with that man from before, and speaking of which...]
...I wanted to. See. If I wasn't imagining him...
[Further and further into the chapel. And finally, the coffin. Inside, as always a dead body.]
[There's a young man inside. This time, instead of a peaceful sleep, his eyes are open. Lovecraft blinks, surprised. Bright robin blue, glassy from death. There's a little rueful smile on his face, like he knows something Lovecraft doesn't.]
[His hair is fluffy, and golden like the fields.]
You can see...him too, yes? John.
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...Lovecraft will feel him tremble. Not from fear, not the sharp, brief spike of seeing a corpse, but from something darker, something caught between fascination and disbelief. His lips press together, stifling a laugh that wants to spill like bile, eyes fixed on the figure within.
Golden hair, soft as fields of wheat at sunset. Jewel-blue eyes, dulled slightly by death yet still striking. Char shivers again, a tremor of unexpressed laughter and unease coursing through him. Whatever this feeling is, it is neither simple nor welcome.]
...This is the man who held such value to you in life... yes? John.
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[Just a few times. That's all. He is young. They didn't know much about each other at all.]
[He can feel the man tense in his arms. So he does see him. So the corpse is real. John continues to smile, like nothing matters.]
I...suppose we were friends.
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[Char's tone is even, almost casual, but there's a quiet gravity beneath it— a curiosity pressed like a blade to the skin. Unlike the corpse's soft, blissful smile, Char's gaze is honed and unflinching, eyes sharp enough to cut.]
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[Upset? But why?]
[....]
I do not get along...with people. Yet. He wasn't scared. He tolerated...everything. He, too, was...terrifying to others. I never knew that before...
[And a sigh, shifting the man in his grip.]
But I did not...do with him what I did with you. If you are curious.
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I feel a bit like you've conflated the two of us— not that I blame you. I see the similarities.
You say he tolerated everything, but that he terrified others. What about him scared them?
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[He says, maybe a bit begrudging for having to admit it. Regardless it is what it is. Nishi didn't choose what he looks like. It must be some cosmic coincidence in the end.]
[...He is glad he isn't that upset, perhaps, though Nishi confuses him even so. He thinks of how to explain, eyes flitting back to that almost cherubic face. But even Lovecraft knows that expression belies something more piercing.]
He's....angry on the inside. He feels things are unfair in the world...so he doesn't...hesitate when it comes to carrying out his orders. He has nothing holding him back...
[A pause.]
His ability was also similar to mine. He had to hurt himself for it. He did not mind...
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...Is that so.
[Vague words, yet heavy with implication. So his resemblance to John is more than surface deep. Char could have guessed, with Lovecraft's sharp eyes and sharper judgment.]
How did he meet his end?
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[He says, a little faltering, as he helps Nishi to his feet. Even so, he doesn't step away, his hand lingering over his shoulders. They hover.]
Hence why I am...surprised.
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He remains close to Lovecraft, but he does shift to stare into that casket, contemplating the warm smile on John's cold, lifeless lips.]
...How does it make you feel, seeing him in this state, taken before his time?
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