[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?
[He is acting oddly. But even he is unsure whether this is normal or merely a reaction to their situation. Nishi seems to be a man of many layers. He always encounters another one every time they meet.]
[Alternatively, he's like an onion: stinky and layered. Lovecraft's view of him is much kinder...]
...I suspected as much, but that leaves me in the awkward position of breaking the news to you. You're bound to hear about it at some point, so let me set the record straight.
[What the Extras gossip about ends up drifting around campus regardless, and with each turn in a long game of telephone, the truth inevitably distorts.]
My identity has found me. Rather, the name I left behind has. With it came the memories I'd been missing— all of them, up until the time of my death.
[Now that's a surprise. He draws back to look at his face again. It is the same face. But he says the identity has found him, like a predator onto prey.]
[He frowns a little. He didn't expect Nishi as some saint, but...]
Now, supposing you'll respond the way I expect you will...
[Little will shock Lovecraft. He could tell Lovecraft that he tried to drop an abandoned space colony on the Earth to force humanity into space and he'd take it on the chin.
...So let him ask this instead—]
What would it take for you to see me as a terrible man?
[His answer comes to mind a little too swiftly, like it's a belief he firmly holds.]
I want to be seen as a terrible man... because it keeps me honest. It reminds me of what I've done, what I cannot undo. Admiration is a luxury I cannot afford.
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insistence) wrote2025-08-18 04:41 pm
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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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[A little shake of the head at his question.]
I do not listen to such...nonsense.
[And the crowds of Extras scare him, anyways.]
Did they say something...about you?
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...I suspected as much, but that leaves me in the awkward position of breaking the news to you. You're bound to hear about it at some point, so let me set the record straight.
[What the Extras gossip about ends up drifting around campus regardless, and with each turn in a long game of telephone, the truth inevitably distorts.]
My identity has found me. Rather, the name I left behind has. With it came the memories I'd been missing— all of them, up until the time of my death.
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[Now that's a surprise. He draws back to look at his face again. It is the same face. But he says the identity has found him, like a predator onto prey.]
[He frowns a little. He didn't expect Nishi as some saint, but...]
Is the truth so terrible?
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[Little will shock Lovecraft. He could tell Lovecraft that he tried to drop an abandoned space colony on the Earth to force humanity into space and he'd take it on the chin.
...So let him ask this instead—]
What would it take for you to see me as a terrible man?
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[He has an answer. But he asks this first.]
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I want to be seen as a terrible man... because it keeps me honest. It reminds me of what I've done, what I cannot undo. Admiration is a luxury I cannot afford.
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[He does not admire anyone. It simply is the way it is.]
Do you want...to be hated?
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Not at all.
[He wants to be loved. Unconditionally loved. An impossible ask.]
But I deserve to be. That is what matters.
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