[ Threatening them would have been too real but straight up killing them wouldn't be?
Despite his talent of being able to keep his emotions in check, both during a regular conversation and through Communion, his confusion right now bleeds through unchecked, Eustace struggling to follow the line of reasoning laid out before him. In some ways he gets it: prolonging anything only makes it worse and more painful, and he can't imagine the realism of the daydreams brought about by the Innocence would have helped matters any. In an ordinary situation, he would have understood 100% and not even bothered to ask any sort of follow-up.
But his feelings on the subject of his family are a complicated snarl, his usual composure trampled underfoot by anger and despair all rolled into one monstrous creature, viscous and black and staining everything it comes into contact with and muddying his otherwise clear-cut line of logic.
The silence marinates between them a little longer before Eustace asks, abruptly: ]
Have you killed people before?
[ Maybe not children - dear gods, he hopes not children - but in general. And maybe it's a question that seems to come out of left field, wholly unrelated to the current thread of conversation, but there's no way someone who's never killed before could so easily done what Dextera had done.
[ the question is even more troubling for dextera than it might be for a normal person. no normal person, even a soldier in a war, could do what he’s done. guilt like a blaze of heat rushes forth through the bond of communion, coating every thought and word in a humid blanket of remorse. not only has he killed people with his own hands, people who did nothing wrong but stand in his way to self-discovery, but he’s condemned millions to a painful end through his selfishness.
so the archangel says, at least, and dextera believes him. ]
Hh… hhah…
[ dextera’s breath quickens; his gaze flutters in a panic. he may have been able to kill eustace’s siblings without a beat in the moment, but it doesn’t mean he’s gone unscathed by his actions.
[ The silence says more than an actual answer would.
But, strangely, the knowledge of Dextera's past pursuits (in the realm of murder, at least) doesn't increase the unease that still bubbles inside of his chest, not in the way he'd expected. It's odd, revising his opinion of this timid young man into someone willing and able to kill without hesitation, but the guilt that threatens to consume him through their shared Communion channel lays some of his original fears to rest. Dextera may have killed people before but he clearly hadn't been happy about it.
And isn't that what really matters in the end, the intent behind all actions committed? It's not as though his hands are any cleaner than Dextera's or that he's taken the moral high ground all his life, far from it in fact.
Without warning he takes a seat, folding his legs in front of him and plopping down onto the ground without any sort of grace. Most of his confusion from before has vanished now, replaced by an all-encompassing exhaustion. Underneath it are notes of regret, for making Dextera come out just to be interrogated, and homesickness.
For a long time, a minute and then another, he doesn't say anything, content to let the nebulous feelings that crowd their shared Communion do the talking for him. And then, finally: ]
I never did say thank you. For....before.
[ More specifically, for dragging his sorry ass out of the clutches of the contagion, as terrible as the method had been. ]
[ dextera practically drowns in the feelings weighing down their bond, and it’s as if eustace’s fully unexpected gratitude jerks his head above water.
he’s received similar gratitude for the things he’s done before, in the moments just before his victims’ lives were severed from this world, but it’s different to hear it from someone only indirectly hurt—and the people he did kill were innocent victims, even if they were only creations of a sick mind.
one hand is still clutching his shard, but the other twists unhappily into his shirt as he tries to calm himself down. ]
I… didn’t… [ slowly, trying to drag the words up from under the layers of pain. ] I just wanted to save you. I knew you would hate me.
[ He says it, but there's an edge of uncertainty to the words, his tone lacking his usual conviction. Does he fear Dextera now? Yes, a little bit, and he's not sure how long it'll take for that feeling to fade—or if it ever will. Is there a wariness now that was never present before, a kneejerk instinct to pull back at the mere mention of the other man? Absolutely.
But hate is a strong emotion, reserved for only the worst criminals in his books, and what Dextera had done hardly crosses into that territory. Maybe if he hadn't shown so much remorse over doing what he had, if he weren't such a nervous wreck now, it would be easier to hate him for what he'd done. Easier for Eustace to treat him like the enemy and to corral his emotions if he did hate the other man.
One eye opens, though his gaze remains fixed on the ground, the seconds ticking by as he stares at a small beetle crawling through the grass. ]
[ wouldn’t it be better for them both if eustace did? maybe dextera should have leaned into it. he should have made himself relish the deaths, or do something so despicable that even acting couldn’t have explained away the imagination to do it. unfortunately for them both, it’s too late now—dextera has made his apologies through meekness, and eustace has seen fit to withhold his hatred, even if he hasn’t necessarily extended his forgiveness. ]
…?
[ maybe he will, though. dextera didn’t expect him to remain inquisitive about something that, to dextera, feels obvious. ]
[ The fingers around his shard twitch at the mention of the word kind. How often has it been used to describe him these past few weeks? Too many, if he has to be honest with himself. It's a descriptor that feels like a lie, given only because no one here knows the truth of what he's done up until now. But more importantly, it's a descriptor that shouldn't be given by someone whom he might have to kill in the near future.
Again, for a long moment, he says nothing. Again, all that crosses the communion channel are flickers of his emotions: unhappiness, regret, a festering resentment against this world and the powers that had brought him here. ]
Don't save me next time. It'll be better for both of us that way.
[ Will it though? Or will it just be better for him, to let someone else take responsibility for his weakness in letting this continue on for as long as it has? ]
[ those negative emotions don’t surprise dextera. he may not be able to see into eustace’s mind or comprehensively understand the life he lived before coming to horos, but it’s evident that things can’t be simply resolved with words—for someone who holds the weight of guilt on their shoulders, being called kind must feel like they’re tricking people. dextera knows that well. ]
…
[ still, he can’t simply abide what eustace tells him. it would be easier, and yet… he’s let too many people die. his hands are bloodstained, and if he doesn’t give his all to repentance, he’ll never be free. ]
I’ll do… what I need to do. I’m sorry I can’t promise anything else.
[ It might be an expected answer but it's still disappointing all the same, and he bows his head again even as he pushes himself back up onto his feet, abandoning his brief moment of rest. ]
Understood.
[ He can't ask for more than that, and it should be enough that he's been given this much. And now there he's said what he needed to, there's not much reason to stay. ]
Thanks for coming out. I'll be going then, unless there was something you wanted to say.
[ He'd called Dextera out for his own selfish purposes today and Dextera had acquiesed without a single complaint. It's the least he can do to give the other man a chance to speak if he wants it. ]
[ dextera shakes his head. he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a pause, and then the very intentional press of emotion: one last apology to cover everything. he’s sorry for what he did to eustace’s family, and he’s sorry that he can’t promise next time will be easier for either of them. he’s sorry, too, that he can’t guarantee a next time can be avoided at all.
he then replaces his shard, and with his newly freed hand, he waves. he’ll let eustace go first. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Despite his talent of being able to keep his emotions in check, both during a regular conversation and through Communion, his confusion right now bleeds through unchecked, Eustace struggling to follow the line of reasoning laid out before him. In some ways he gets it: prolonging anything only makes it worse and more painful, and he can't imagine the realism of the daydreams brought about by the Innocence would have helped matters any. In an ordinary situation, he would have understood 100% and not even bothered to ask any sort of follow-up.
But his feelings on the subject of his family are a complicated snarl, his usual composure trampled underfoot by anger and despair all rolled into one monstrous creature, viscous and black and staining everything it comes into contact with and muddying his otherwise clear-cut line of logic.
The silence marinates between them a little longer before Eustace asks, abruptly: ]
Have you killed people before?
[ Maybe not children - dear gods, he hopes not children - but in general. And maybe it's a question that seems to come out of left field, wholly unrelated to the current thread of conversation, but there's no way someone who's never killed before could so easily done what Dextera had done.
Is there? ]
no subject
[ the question is even more troubling for dextera than it might be for a normal person. no normal person, even a soldier in a war, could do what he’s done. guilt like a blaze of heat rushes forth through the bond of communion, coating every thought and word in a humid blanket of remorse. not only has he killed people with his own hands, people who did nothing wrong but stand in his way to self-discovery, but he’s condemned millions to a painful end through his selfishness.
so the archangel says, at least, and dextera believes him. ]
Hh… hhah…
[ dextera’s breath quickens; his gaze flutters in a panic. he may have been able to kill eustace’s siblings without a beat in the moment, but it doesn’t mean he’s gone unscathed by his actions.
there’s no need for him to say yes. ]
no subject
But, strangely, the knowledge of Dextera's past pursuits (in the realm of murder, at least) doesn't increase the unease that still bubbles inside of his chest, not in the way he'd expected. It's odd, revising his opinion of this timid young man into someone willing and able to kill without hesitation, but the guilt that threatens to consume him through their shared Communion channel lays some of his original fears to rest. Dextera may have killed people before but he clearly hadn't been happy about it.
And isn't that what really matters in the end, the intent behind all actions committed? It's not as though his hands are any cleaner than Dextera's or that he's taken the moral high ground all his life, far from it in fact.
Without warning he takes a seat, folding his legs in front of him and plopping down onto the ground without any sort of grace. Most of his confusion from before has vanished now, replaced by an all-encompassing exhaustion. Underneath it are notes of regret, for making Dextera come out just to be interrogated, and homesickness.
For a long time, a minute and then another, he doesn't say anything, content to let the nebulous feelings that crowd their shared Communion do the talking for him. And then, finally: ]
I never did say thank you. For....before.
[ More specifically, for dragging his sorry ass out of the clutches of the contagion, as terrible as the method had been. ]
no subject
[ dextera practically drowns in the feelings weighing down their bond, and it’s as if eustace’s fully unexpected gratitude jerks his head above water.
he’s received similar gratitude for the things he’s done before, in the moments just before his victims’ lives were severed from this world, but it’s different to hear it from someone only indirectly hurt—and the people he did kill were innocent victims, even if they were only creations of a sick mind.
one hand is still clutching his shard, but the other twists unhappily into his shirt as he tries to calm himself down. ]
I… didn’t… [ slowly, trying to drag the words up from under the layers of pain. ] I just wanted to save you. I knew you would hate me.
no subject
[ He says it, but there's an edge of uncertainty to the words, his tone lacking his usual conviction. Does he fear Dextera now? Yes, a little bit, and he's not sure how long it'll take for that feeling to fade—or if it ever will. Is there a wariness now that was never present before, a kneejerk instinct to pull back at the mere mention of the other man? Absolutely.
But hate is a strong emotion, reserved for only the worst criminals in his books, and what Dextera had done hardly crosses into that territory. Maybe if he hadn't shown so much remorse over doing what he had, if he weren't such a nervous wreck now, it would be easier to hate him for what he'd done. Easier for Eustace to treat him like the enemy and to corral his emotions if he did hate the other man.
One eye opens, though his gaze remains fixed on the ground, the seconds ticking by as he stares at a small beetle crawling through the grass. ]
Why did you save me?
no subject
…?
[ maybe he will, though. dextera didn’t expect him to remain inquisitive about something that, to dextera, feels obvious. ]
You were kind to me. You’ve been kind to me.
no subject
Again, for a long moment, he says nothing. Again, all that crosses the communion channel are flickers of his emotions: unhappiness, regret, a festering resentment against this world and the powers that had brought him here. ]
Don't save me next time. It'll be better for both of us that way.
[ Will it though? Or will it just be better for him, to let someone else take responsibility for his weakness in letting this continue on for as long as it has? ]
no subject
…
[ still, he can’t simply abide what eustace tells him. it would be easier, and yet… he’s let too many people die. his hands are bloodstained, and if he doesn’t give his all to repentance, he’ll never be free. ]
I’ll do… what I need to do. I’m sorry I can’t promise anything else.
no subject
Understood.
[ He can't ask for more than that, and it should be enough that he's been given this much. And now there he's said what he needed to, there's not much reason to stay. ]
Thanks for coming out. I'll be going then, unless there was something you wanted to say.
[ He'd called Dextera out for his own selfish purposes today and Dextera had acquiesed without a single complaint. It's the least he can do to give the other man a chance to speak if he wants it. ]
no subject
[ dextera shakes his head. he doesn’t say anything, but there’s a pause, and then the very intentional press of emotion: one last apology to cover everything. he’s sorry for what he did to eustace’s family, and he’s sorry that he can’t promise next time will be easier for either of them. he’s sorry, too, that he can’t guarantee a next time can be avoided at all.
he then replaces his shard, and with his newly freed hand, he waves. he’ll let eustace go first. ]