the value of experience
More Pandora Hearts. Because ALICE IS MY SUNSHINE.
...Yes. A tiny, mean girl/giant, homicidal rabbit is my sunshine. WHAT. :D
Alices with memories + Jack, Alice without memories + Oz. And Gil, obviously. Well, obviously.
Pandora Hearts doesn't belong to me! Spoilers through ch. 49.
The Value of Experience
He’s such a nice man.
Nice isn’t good enough.
Ah! Why are you always so cold? He goes out of his way to make us happy!
You’ve never wondered why?
You’re just being difficult! I like him.
You’ll regret it.
And that would be bad enough on its own-she is my sister, after all-but I’ll regret it, too, which is worse. I’ve never trusted Jack Vessarius.
Oh, he means well, there’s no question of that. He means well. He’s charming and handsome and kind. He loves us, my twin and I. But then, he loves everyone.
There’s something very wrong with a person like that.
No, that isn’t fair. It’s just that that’s not the way I love, and it’s not the way my sister loves, either. It’s just that I don’t understand people like that.
Take my sister’s cat. That cat hates me, and why? Because I’m the wrong Alice. Because his heart is given, and he doesn’t have it in him to love us both. Now that I understand. Total, simple devotion to one person. Maybe cats and Alices are simple creatures, because that’s the kind of love I want. Sometimes I envy my sister her cat.
If it sounds selfish, that’s because it is selfish. Horribly selfish. On the other hand, I don’t want anything I wouldn’t give in return. If I’m the world to you, you’ll be the world to me. I don’t have a generous heart, but I do have a covetous one, which has its advantages and disadvantages. The most important thing, with a heart like mine, is to recognize it for what it is. Lying to myself or anyone else about it is much too dangerous.
We’ve tried to love generous people before, my sister and I. It ends badly. Every time. No one’s fault, really. Generous people have enough love for a lot of people. We don’t. If the person I love loves someone other than me, I assume that my fair share of love is being halved.
Logically, I know this isn’t true, but that doesn’t matter. Logic holds disappointingly little sway over my behavior. And even less over my sister’s.
Jack is generous. He’s quick to see the best in everyone, quick to give himself to anyone who wants him. Slow to see why this might be incredibly stupid. And just as I don’t understand the way Jack loves, so it would never cross his mind to believe that we really are as stingy and close-hearted as I tell him we are. He thinks I’m exaggerating.
But Jack, I never lie.
I keep distance between us, always. For his sake, yes, but mostly for mine. He thinks he’ll wear me down eventually. He’s wrong. The more I like him, the more determined I’ll be to keep him away, to protect him from me at my worst. There will be no loving of Jack. I will never allow myself to think of him as mine.
My sister, though. Oh, my sister. She’s completely dazzled by this easy love of Jack’s. In a way, that’s not a bad thing. We’re not exactly spoiled for choice of companions in this comfortable cage of ours. Two souls in one body, one body in one room, visitors strictly controlled by a violent madman. It’s enough to turn a girl a bit strange.
Yes, Jack is clearly the best of a bad lot when it comes to visitors.
The thing is, she isn’t just settling for Jack. She’s letting herself love him. Hasn’t she learned anything? Doesn’t she remember? Our body is young, but our memories are as old as the Abyss. Maybe it’s that she won’t let herself remember. She’s always been careful to act like a child; she’s always pretended to be untouched by tragedy and time.
Jack calls it innocence and finds it charming. It’s not innocence. It’s willful ignorance. She’ll happily lie to herself to avoid any unpleasant truth. She’s cruel in blind self-defense; she hurts people and never notices or cares. Senseless viciousness.
Of course, I understand the appeal of living the way she does. Sometimes I feel crushed under the weight of our memories, but we need to remember. If we don’t, we’ll just do the same stupid things over and over again.
My sister disagrees. My sister is weak. And I’m not strong enough to be strong for both of us.
He’ll leave us.
He won’t.
Of course he will. He won’t be able to help it. He’ll leave, just like all the others.
You sound like Vincent!
You need to calm down about Vincent.
I hate Vincent!
You were the one who started that whole Vincent thing.
I was not!
You were, too.
Of course Jack will leave. Generous people can only be tied down for so long. They always leave in the end. They can’t be trapped. I’ve seen it a dozen times, and unlike my sister, I remember. Jack will abandon us, sure as sunset, sure as the walls of our pretty cage. He probably won’t mean to, but intentions are worthless.
We don’t take well to being abandoned, not once we’ve gotten really attached.
My idiot of a sister is thoroughly attached.
The normal consequences of this kind of misunderstanding are-what? Heartbreak? Tears? A ripple in the pond of human emotion, hardly worth notice.
My twin and I are a little more dangerous than that. And we aren’t even the most dangerous players in this game.
Jack Vessarius. Why did he come here? To be the sunlight in this home of closed hearts and bleak imaginations? To save us from ourselves? Impossible, dear Jack. There’s no turning aside willful self-destruction; the only thing you’ll accomplish is to destroy yourself, too. Trust me. I never lie.
Be careful, Jack.
Glen Baskerville loves the same way I do.
* * *
I told you this would happen.
Stop it.
I told you.
Stop talking!
If you would listen-if you would ever think-
He’ll come back! He will, he-
He’s gone! This is just like last time, this is just like every time before it! Can’t you remember? Or are you too much of a coward for that?
SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!
* * *
Oz is so much more trouble than he’s worth it’s not even funny.
If he’s not trying to get himself killed (which he spends a lot of time doing), or going homicidal for no reason (which is Alice’s job), then he’s wandering off with some girl. Or boy. He’s a dangerous, suicidal attention whore, is what he is. And why can’t he just be happy already, why does he need attention? He has Alice, doesn’t he? That should be plenty. He should be grateful!
And he has Raven, too! Alice may not like the seaweed-head, but Oz sure does. And maybe Alice doesn’t mind him all that much. It’s not like he’s going to steal Oz away from her. He’s pretty good at sharing, most of the time. So that’s okay.
Maybe she does kind of sort of like Raven sometimes when he isn’t being really annoying. He worries about Oz and he cooks good food and he makes funny faces. Every once in a while, he’s even nice. Maybe she’d be sad if he went away or shot himself or got pushed off a cliff. Not that she’ll ever tell anyone that. It’s just, Raven is special.
The rest of the world, though, and this girl in particular, should stay the hell away from what belongs to Alice. This girl, who’s giggling like an idiot. “Well, I’ve lived here all my life,” she giggles, “so I guess I know the town pretty well?” As if anyone cares.
“Ah, you grew up here? I’m so jealous! It’s beautiful.” Except for Oz. Of course Oz cares. Alice scowls ferociously. Oz cares about everything to do with everyone he passes on the street. He is totally untrustworthy and just like a hyperactive, wandering puppy. Faithless. Boy needs a leash.
Alice glances sideways at Raven. He’s glaring at the girl, too. That’s comforting, anyway. Somebody realizes that Oz shouldn’t be such a whore, even if it is just seaweed-head.
It would be one thing if Oz were like her other contractors. She didn’t care about them one way or another; she was neither for nor against. Just like they didn’t much care about her. When their time was up, she was sad, but mainly because she knew she’d be stuck in the Abyss again, and it would be boring.
But Oz. Oz is different. Oz defended her even when he didn’t know the first thing about her. He helps her out, doesn’t ask questions, and tries to give her anything she needs, from memories to food. He even tries to share his friends with her, which would be great if she actually wanted his friends, but she sees what he’s trying to do.
Oz is just…he’s hers, is what he is. And no way is he ending up trapped with that Will of the Abyss, who is apparently, what, Alice’s crazy sister or something. They’ll find a way out. They have to. Because Alice is absolutely not letting him leave.
Oz and the girl laugh, and Alice wonders idly what she’d taste like. One fast swipe with the scythe, and Alice could knock that girl’s head ten feet away. Easy as picking daisies.
She can’t remember if she’s ever actually picked daisies. Come to think of it, she can’t quite call to mind what daisies look like. She knows what severed heads look like, though, and she wouldn’t mind seeing another one.
Raven must be able to tell what she’s thinking, because he sighs and grabs the back of her coat just firmly enough that it would take turning into a giant rabbit to get away from him.
She slumps and sulks. It’s not like she was actually going to do anything. Because-because-
It’s senseless.
It would make Oz sad.
But the thing about Raven is, he understands. Maybe that’s what she likes best about him. If she’s honest, there’s only one really annoying thing about Raven, and that’s the way he’s always brooding about Jack. It bugs her, because what’s the point? Jack’s dead. Jack’s a dream.
Oz is right here, and you can dance with him.
Or at least you can until he gets distracted by other people and steps on your foot and ruins everything.
After an insufferably long time, the girl does finally leave, and Raven lets Alice go. Alice would love to think they won’t see that girl again, but hah, she should be so lucky. Oz grabs onto people and never lets go. They just keep turning up. Elliot Nightray, Philip West, that Echo girl, Oscar and Ada.
And Alice and Raven, maybe, but she doesn’t let herself think about that for long. The idea that she and the seaweed head are the same as all the others makes her stomach go cold, and that makes her sick and hungry, and the whole thing is really annoying and all Oz’s fault.
Oz is talking to someone new. A man. A shopkeeper. He’s asking about the man’s family, his job, his home, his hopes and dreams. He wants to know this man. Because Alice isn’t good enough, not even with Raven thrown in extra.
The man’s wife walks up to talk to Oz, too. Their children. A friend. Soon Alice can’t see him at all.
It’s not what Sharon thinks, with her flowers and jealousy and cheek-biting-or at least that’s not all it is. It’s more than that. Alice is afraid.
She doesn’t know why. She probably can’t remember why, which is unbelievably annoying. Logically, there’s no reason to worry. Oz belongs to her. He always comes back to her, even if he does wander. He’s her property and he’ll never leave. So why should any of this matter? It makes him happy and it’s harmless. She likes to see him happy.
Even if she wishes he could be happy with just her.
Afraid.
“Alice?” Oz, appearing out of nowhere, head tipped to the side, smiling and confused. And hers. Hers. “Are you feeling all right? You seem a little-”
“I,” Alice announces, “am starving.”
She is starving, that’s true. She’s always starving, and sometimes it bothers her. Just like Oz’s wandering bothers her. Just like Jack’s ghost being nice to her bothers her.
She really needs to get her memories back.
“Elliot and Leo are meeting us for lunch.” Oz smiles, chillingly carefree. “That’s okay, isn’t it, Gil? We haven’t seen them for ages!”
Elliot Nightray. Oz is very fond of Elliot Nightray. Uneasy boy: familiar, unfamiliar. Alice wishes he would go away-she’s tired of trying to remember if she remembers him. And he makes her uncomfortable for no reason.
He and Oz together make her something worse than uncomfortable.
She needs her memories back right now.
“Alice?” Oz asks, so sweet that you’d never believe he sometimes needs to be restrained from beheading people. “Are you okay?”
She scowls at him, a wisp of a thought, Don’t smile at me so easily. “I already told you I’m starving,” she says. “And now we have to eat with people. You’re lucky I don’t just eat the seaweed head.”
“You what?” Raven squawks. “Are you threatening me, stupid rabbit!?”
Alice focuses on now. Now now now. She should only be thinking about getting her memories back-everything else will hold until then.
Everything else had better hold until then. But even if it doesn’t, there’s nothing she can do about it, so there’s no point in worrying.
Fight with Raven, watch out for Oz, keep an eye on everyone else. That’s all she can do. It will have to be enough.
She wishes she could stop being afraid, because it’s stupid and it won’t help.