[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?
[His expression falls a little, withdrawing into itself, because...he doesn't know. He's never been in tune with his emotions, so lost in his own physiological needs. He leans a little closer to the man, chin resting against his head.]
[Wrong. That succinctly describes all the horrors dressed in layers of dreamlike whimsy that make up this farce of a play.
Char remains tucked closely beside Lovecraft.]
This place makes a mockery of the dead. The woman I saw buried beneath my grave... she is dead and gone, but her body belongs elsewhere. What she wished for more than anything was to be freed, not to be buried beneath the earth.
[The words leave him through a slow exhale, heavy with the dull ache that never loosens its hold. Still, his voice remains steady, disciplined, betraying nothing of the full weight of his feelings for her.]
She was a special person to me.
[Calling her special and leaving it go at that is doing her too great a disservice. Char pauses for a moment, then continues.]
Losing her was losing the part of myself that could still believe in something pure.
[A special person for Nishi. She must be akin to John for him. Someone like a light in one's life. If he had exerted effort to dig up his own grave, would he have found someone wearing his clothes?]
[He gently turns Nishi around in his arms, making him face away from the coffin.]
So this is one of your many wounds.
[And he pulls him in. He's no good at hugs - at least, with human arms - but the gesture, he thinks, should be enough, pressing his face against his chest.]
[—Ah. He nearly forgets where he is until he's turned, compelled to look at Lovecraft.
Right. Languishing over the fate of the dead won't bring them back. Better to push the thought aside and move steadily forward... or try, at least.]
That's not—
[He feels overly exposed by the callout, and it's second nature to fluster, to try and neatly dismiss the true depth of the wound. Vulnerability is not a virtue, and yet—
He's stiff and still in Lovecraft's arms, but he doesn't stay that way. Gradually, almost woodenly, he lifts his arms to return the embrace. It's a lot at once. He's not accustomed to being the one drawn into another's arms.]
[No one regards him as such. He is simply selfish. He has his wants, and wants to fulfill those wants. Perhaps now this man is wrapped up in said wants, who has given him more than he deserves. Is that really all? To preserve a relationship where he gets so much out it? Maybe all relationships are like that...?]
[There's little left to hide now that his identity has been laid bare— to himself, and to anyone keeping an ear to the latest campus gossip, letting the name Casval loose to rattle his mind. A reminder first of the man he killed years ago, and second, of the mask he used to overwrite him.
With an uneasy sigh, he offers Lovecraft a touch more context for his abrupt, unusual behavior. His feelings for Lalah Sune run deep, scarring as they are— but there is something else keeping him in this unsettled state.]
...You must think I've been acting oddly. If that's the case, I don't blame you. You've heard the rumors, haven't you?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
insistence) wrote2025-08-18 04:41 pm
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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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[His expression falls a little, withdrawing into itself, because...he doesn't know. He's never been in tune with his emotions, so lost in his own physiological needs. He leans a little closer to the man, chin resting against his head.]
[His voice rumbles like a sea.]
I cannot give it name, but it feels....wrong.
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[Wrong. That succinctly describes all the horrors dressed in layers of dreamlike whimsy that make up this farce of a play.
Char remains tucked closely beside Lovecraft.]
This place makes a mockery of the dead. The woman I saw buried beneath my grave... she is dead and gone, but her body belongs elsewhere. What she wished for more than anything was to be freed, not to be buried beneath the earth.
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I thought you said you...found an Extra. You did not...?
[It was someone he knew, perhaps?]
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[The words leave him through a slow exhale, heavy with the dull ache that never loosens its hold. Still, his voice remains steady, disciplined, betraying nothing of the full weight of his feelings for her.]
She was a special person to me.
[Calling her special and leaving it go at that is doing her too great a disservice. Char pauses for a moment, then continues.]
Losing her was losing the part of myself that could still believe in something pure.
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[He gently turns Nishi around in his arms, making him face away from the coffin.]
So this is one of your many wounds.
[And he pulls him in. He's no good at hugs - at least, with human arms - but the gesture, he thinks, should be enough, pressing his face against his chest.]
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Right. Languishing over the fate of the dead won't bring them back. Better to push the thought aside and move steadily forward... or try, at least.]
That's not—
[He feels overly exposed by the callout, and it's second nature to fluster, to try and neatly dismiss the true depth of the wound. Vulnerability is not a virtue, and yet—
He's stiff and still in Lovecraft's arms, but he doesn't stay that way. Gradually, almost woodenly, he lifts his arms to return the embrace. It's a lot at once. He's not accustomed to being the one drawn into another's arms.]
...You really are kind. Much more than I deserve.
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[No one regards him as such. He is simply selfish. He has his wants, and wants to fulfill those wants. Perhaps now this man is wrapped up in said wants, who has given him more than he deserves. Is that really all? To preserve a relationship where he gets so much out it? Maybe all relationships are like that...?]
But it does not please me to see you so.
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With an uneasy sigh, he offers Lovecraft a touch more context for his abrupt, unusual behavior. His feelings for Lalah Sune run deep, scarring as they are— but there is something else keeping him in this unsettled state.]
...You must think I've been acting oddly. If that's the case, I don't blame you. You've heard the rumors, haven't you?
[Rumors. More like uncomfortable truths.]
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