WHO: EDWARD NYGMA and POSSIBLY YOU.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: August 8th - August 14th.
WARNINGS: Sweep you all up on a corner and pay for my bread.
SUMMARY: You know that I cannot believe my own truth.
FORMAT: To show what a truth, it's got nothing to lose.
(
A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it. )
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"Someone close to me died there." His voice was wound tight in the back of his throat, but he didn't cry. He watched the bloodstained wall instead of Edward. ENDING. "And she wasn't an import, so, no, she's not coming back. And then I did take someone's head off."
His gaze shot back to Edward. Waiting to see how he'd respond. His hands, locked at his sides, were trembling.
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"You were in cahoots with a member of MAJESTY," he spoke plainly, without looking back at Katurian. "She died there, you said. None of your darling little fellow rebels would have allowed for a powerless native to join your crusade. So she was there, with you, motivated by betrayal or frustration or perhaps even idealism, and then she died." A pause. "And then you killed the man responsible."
He glanced over, finally, and in a neutral tone replied:
"Well done."
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The rest of the scene came easily. The crunch in the snow. Stray feathers.
The wheezing sound the man made while Katurian beat him with his gun.
"I--" He swallowed. "--didn't need to kill him. I had him unconscious, and we were taking prisoners."
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He was somewhere between appalled and amused.
"Someone needed to die. But if you're going to kill, for God's sake, kill with meaning."
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"I know," he said flat. He remembered burying his parents by the wishing well, because that seemed apt. But he also remembered how he felt when he killed them. The lack of hesitation. The dissociation. He was outside his body, he was a beast, he was a perfect monster. "I couldn't stop myself."
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"You killed a potentially innocent man, one who may not have had any direct connection to your friend's death. He was a man with a family and obligation and desires, and yet you killed him without second thought because you wanted to avenge her somehow." Eddie ended the note with a snarl. The silence radiated between them.
And then he shrugged.
"Well. I forgive you."
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"Well," he said, shrugging with his hand still on his head, then letting go. The nonchalance was, to a degree, feigned. His shoulders were stiff. "To be fair, he would've done the same to me."
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He walked over to his bed, and collapsed over it. Red stained where his hands fell.
"Do you see what I'm saying, Katurian? Imagine all the lives you saved, because you prevented yet another person from obtaining your powers."
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He approached the bed and offered Edward the plastic bag, finally. He figured he might as well give it over before his hands got too sweaty. Then, of course, he remembered the blood on Edward's, and elected to place it down on the covers instead.
"Anyway, that's why I'm so moody. Like you said."
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He swung one leg over the other, offering his company a seat next to him.
"Not like there's plenty of places to sit." He didn't know how often he had repeated that sentence, to his visitors. Each time seemed fresh to him. "But yes, your moodiness. Losing someone significant is never fun, is it? But now, at least, you can learn from the experience. Don't fraternize with the natives." Eddie lifted his chin slightly, exhaling. "They die."
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It was only when Edward mentioned 'fraternizing' that his mood flickered. He shot a brief, cool look at him before softening somewhat, turning away and resting his elbows on his thighs. "Imports go away."
Nigel, Cameron, Death, Mary, Alex, Billy. The names were endless, and even though he kept them in his apartment on note cards, he still couldn't call them all up on a moment's notice. Still, it was only half-mourning. The people he lost continued on somewhere, and none of their disappearances felt like the punch of having someone die in his arms. Sylph was not the first person (or native) he lost that way, and it still ruined him.
"Anyway, I don't mind being the one ( ... )
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"Oh my God."
He tried to pretend he hadn't seen that. But the vulnerability was impossible to avoid entirely.
"Don't do that."
It escaped before he could censor himself.
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He wiped at his eyes again, the sleeve of his shirt rough against his skin.
"I'm sorry."
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It was a great mercy, coming from Edward.
"My point is," he said, finally. "You've got to be careful with that sort of idea. And yes, I'm aware that you already know this -- which makes it even more perplexing, running into the same painful pattern again and again. You have a desire to redeem yourself. Okay. We get it. But doesn't it make more sense to do as much good as you can, with minimal damage to your own psyche? How can you continue to give the same quality of service if every venture leaves you psychologically crippled?" He glanced back at Katurian, keeping a steady look before his eyes wandered to the plastic bag.
"You should care for people who pose a low probability of disappointing you."
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He didn't know if he could stand that. He nodded anyway.
Then he saw Eddie watching the plastic bag. He tugged at it from his place on the bed, pulling it back far enough to reveal the edge of the cover.
"They're puzzles. Word games and-- and so on. I don't think you need to pen to do them, but maybe it helps. Just to see the answers written out."
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