[Him just being angry when the immediate cause for anger arises and otherwise existing in a depression cloud... SOMEONE HELP HIM.
He has opinions about that first statement, but keeps them to himself. As for the softer apology and the very true words that follow, there's just a little pang of something sad and a bit nostalgic.]
I suppose that's true. What an inconvenient thing, though, this fog... [It rarely interferes, but when it does, it's always BAD. Then, a bit offhandedly:] ...That was the memory I lost when I returned here after dying in that hospital. I'd been asked how I could know I'd forgotten something since you're not actively thinking about all of your memories all of the time, but...
[Ain't no way in hell his ass would ever forget that. ALSO DONT FORGET TO GIVE ME MEM BEATS YOU UP]
[ i really don't think lucas of all people gets to metatext this ]
...I see. How did you feel when you lost it?
[ he's not surprised that lucas would realize exactly what he was missing, once he got it back. everything about him indicates that this would make sense. he tries not to sound too curious, but he is, a little. it must be strange to lose such a formative crux of his existence.
[STOP HE DOESN'T EXIST IN A DEPRESSION CLOUD he exists in a catholic guilt cloud they're different. Also he has bursts of murderous violence instead of anger. IT'S DIFFERENT.
Anyway, the curiosity is fair enough, and he doesn't seem bothered by the question regardless. Recalling the sensation is unpleasant, though. He can get some of those discomforted vibes.]
I could tell that I was missing something, but not what it was... So at the time, it just felt like that. That there was a part of me that was gone. Strange and empty, but not exactly anything that made me feel upset or angry.
[you better not forget or i will kill you, nu, on the mingle]
[PERHAPS IT IS A BIT..... BETTER........... A BIT, PERHAPS..... i'll kill you a second time cocks my beegun
That's a good question, though! He frowns, thinking it over for a second.]
...I think it's likely because taking one memory away doesn't change every part of a person, even if that memory was very big or important. It isn't as though the rest of my memories changed. It was more like... I just didn't remember that moment that made everything afterwards happen.
[Which had been uncomfortable to recall once it was all said and done, but nothing like being a whole new person.]
...I see. So it didn't change who you resulted in, just your memory of that instance.
[ the whole idea has him looking curious, emotions turned contemplative. but before that gets much further i will give you a memshare before i set up a muppet audience, it's w6 so you can just have the heroin backstory woah fog time
cw: child abuse, slavery, drugs Fighting back is easy, at first.
You still remember freedom—nights by a fire with your older sister, shelling roasted chestnuts, burning your fingertips when they get too hot. Having to throw out a batch of medicine because you used the wrong ratio of ingredients, and being scolded gently by your parents as they teach you how to properly grind the herbs and not pour in too much reagent.
So when it comes to your masters, you don't spare your venom. You hate them, and you tell them so. They beat you, of course, but there is a little pride in smearing the blood off your lip and not folding immediately. Your life, as devastated as it was, still doesn't feel so impossibly distant. Maybe you can hold out long enough until someone comes and pummels all the evil people here and saves you—maybe you can be strong enough to last.
It's only after your owners discover that you're worth more than the average, skinny little urchin that you realize a few fundamental truths: one, they treated you like nothing, because you were nothing. Now that they can squeeze value out of you, they bear down harder.
And two, you watch another slave die, and know they really will kill you if you don't give in.
Surviving, then, takes tremendous effort. You favor whatever side they don't beat that day, and you huddle with your cellmates for warmth when you have them. You patch up the bloody ruts in your skin yourself where they've taken to hurting you. You mix your own antidotes when they poison what food you do get, even if the pain and panic make it hard to do anything but curl up on the ground and shake. Sometimes all you can do is wait it out, and they toe your side to see you flinch, and you realize they think it's funny.
And what's baffling is—despite it all, you can't bring yourself to give up and die. No matter how much pain it is, how humiliating and hopeless these days are, you always end up struggling to live. Because dying—it's scarier? Somehow, death is always scarier. You miss your sister, you're clutching the legacy of a dead clan, and you're a child, you are terrified to die thinking that this is all you'll get, that being someone else's property is all you amount to now. There must be more to it. There was, once.
But the pain wins eventually, in other ways. It becomes a fight just to survive, to avoid hurt, and you make concessions: as the years pass, you stop letting yourself remember your family. You quit dreaming of rescue, and instead wonder idly—maybe life would've been easier, if you'd been bought by someone else? You forget the shape of freedom. You settle. You don't give your masters any lip, you don't bother blocking a hit because it'll be returned twice as badly; eventually, you hand them the things they want. The secrets your clan so closely guarded: you reveal them in little pieces in the lab that they make for you, where you can mix up concoctions to your heart's content. You use all that forbidden knowledge and eventually manufacture a drug so sweet and so addictive that it floods the criminal underbelly, makes it swollen with activity, fills treatment centers with withdrawal patients too poor to afford their next dose, taints lives all across the skies, and—most crucially—turns your masters into very, very rich men.
And then they treat you kindly.
You get a bed, instead of a cell. Your wounds have time to heal over into ropes of scars. They give you expensive clothes and call you an officer in their ranks, they let you travel for research because they know you won't run out of your cage even if they extend the bars. They laugh and smack your back as though they're your old friends—they praise the way they raised you. They accept you as one of their own without ever quite relinquishing you as their property.
It repulses you. Your surface is still, but it makes everything inside you churn and retch. You hate them and their kindness from your very core, extending through all your matter, stretching through your nerve endings—the entirety of your existence is dedicated to rage and fury and sorrow. You hate ████ for doing this to you. You hate the whole premise of the world for allowing this to happen, for deciding that some people can be turned into instruments and others get to live blissfully unaware. You hate that children can be traded off and no one seems to care where they go. You hate living, you hate how you've sold your clan's dignity, you hate yourself, you hate yourself, your hate extends beyond boundary and limit and it still doesn't make an ounce of difference, it doesn't make a single sound. Because you finally, finally have a shred of freedom, a life you've protected and scraped for, and yet you don't feel safe or happy and probably never will.
It's here, surrounded by creature comforts and guilt, that you wonder why, if this is life, you were ever so scared to die. ]
[can you imagine if this was mondays thread and they just had to have this emotional moment while lucas was a muppet
Anyway. WOW!!! All of that was nightmarish! Lucas had more or less assumed that horrible bullshit had befallen Nehan after he'd been unfortunate enough to end up in the position of a lone, weak and vulnerable child, but this is an entirely different flavor of nightmare to the one he's only recently awakened to.
The emotions of the memory wash over him, and in return, there's a bright flare of a vivid, violent fury, because the violence implanted in Lucas is simply a part of him now, and this is how it manifests when it's under his own control. Rage against a cruel world that would allow this to happen, against adults who would take advantage of children, against the disgusting sort of people who would make money off of the suffering of others and parade a captive around only after he'd earned them their wealth, making merry and pretending that the abuse of the past was just the smallest blip.
He's livid, he's so angry, always the angriest for the children. It's a good thing he's not holding anything glass or his dumb ass would have broken it again!!!! As things are, the memory comes and goes like the tide, and as it leaves, he whips his head around to look for Nehan, as if he's afraid that he might have somehow fucking evaporated in the moments of misery that passed through.]
the empathetic violence is strange. nehan is removed from these experiences now, or resigned to them; the bitterness and hatred are still there, but not nearly as fierce as it once was. just here and gone again, on occasion.
he is just sitting here calmly when it ends and lucas looks for him, his emotions the equivalent of white noise. the world really does suck sometimes, but WHAT CAN YOU DO. he sees the tension in him and refrains from reaching out, just in case, almost soothing when he speaks. ]
...It's all right. Just a memory. [ deep breaths!!! no more glass paws!!!!! ]
[MY SERIOUS MUPPET THREADSSSSS I MISSED MY CHANCE TO CONFESS TO MURDER WHILE I WAS A MUPPET AND IT MADE ME SO SAD.
Nehan's out here being white noise and Lucas is just like what if I simply kill everyone in this bar. It's too late to help Nehan, who never had a savior show up through any of that miserable slog, but if his purpose is going to be to kill demons, he might as well kill some actual demons, damn.
His arms raise, but so he can fold his hands together as if preparing to pray. Violence be quiet...]
...There's no need to tell me that... [Says he who is radiating murderous malice.] ...The hands that found you - theirs, correct?
lucas please your violence. sometimes killing really is the answer, but as hateful as nehan is, he is a healer and a mender first and foremost; he doesn't have a natural inclination to harm, so this is very strange and new and a little frightening to absorb.
at the same time, because he has mental illness, he is somewhat... touched........? he's used to being angry, but after all this time spent looking after himself, it's strange to suddenly comprehend the full force of someone who really would break all the people who did this in half if things had played out a little earlier, in another life. it's not specific to him, he doesn't actually want it, but it is... something to process. nothing about this interaction is healthy. ]
Correct. ...Ours was a remote and ostracized village, for good reason. I didn't know what I was doing at the time, so I was caught and sold off eventually.
But that's not an unusual story. I imagine it happens in most worlds, even yours. [ just rounding back to earlier points: people just take advantage of the weak and lost all of the time. ]
Also listen. Killing is the answer sometimes... Nehan doesn't like murder but SOMETIMES MURDER IS DESERVED!!!!!
This is truly so abnormal and funny though. Please don't be touched about a serial killer who could and would absolutely murder the shit out of your captives from years long past. Or do be, because sometimes that's the biggest kindness life can give you! Just a real strong guy who's here to kill your problems.
He's trying to reel the murderous instinct back under control, though. It still feels like a natural part of him even though it didn't start that way, even though a part of it is, now.]
...Most likely. There are dark spaces in the alleys of any city with people in it, it seems... If there's room for the darkness of a person's heart, there's room for those who would take advantage of the young and vulnerable. [A beat.] ...Why was your village ostracized? Your trade...?
[ sometimes....... murder is the answer. but there has to be someone who takes on that responsibility, the cost of being a tool of vengeance or justice or just plain killing, and he doesn't like that part.
so after a second, he reaches out, gently putting a paw on lucas's joined hands. that is enough murderous impulse even if he appreciates the thought, there there. ]
...Yes. Karm was very secretive, and only ever really met outsiders to arrange contracts for killing. Even our names and faces were never really meant to be shared. [ no one fucking trusts a village when your main export is assassinations and you wear freaky masks all the time ] But in the end, the major port cities are that much more dangerous, I think. Too much of that dark intent. [ too many places to get lost and disappear. ] I didn't realize that as a child, is all.
[Oh paw... It's a bit of a surprising gesture from Nehan, but there's a flicker of something warm and gentle. Friendship goobers........ The violent desire to rip a man's throat out with his teeth fades a bit.]
Ah... Well. Given the trade in question here, I suppose that makes sense. [Their secrecy and the lack of trust others held toward them. GIVEN THE ASSASSINATIONS... But he does nod at that. Arpechele is too small to have the sort of criminal underbelly of a place with port cities and large capitals, but he can still understand it well enough.]
The world would be better off without those who would take advantage of children. [MURDER IS BACK murder is being chokeholded again.] ...I should like to see a place in which this is possible, but the nature of people itself would have to change.
[ FRIENDSHIP GOOBERS.... disgusting. this nearly makes him draw his hand back because he is allergic, but he persists for the sake of soothing the inner demons. THERE THERE.
though his own feelings do take a sour turn at that. he's had time to repress and resign himself to his own memories, but the general suffering of other kids is still a tough pill to swallow. ]
It would, and I don't expect it to.
[ fatalism, baby. humanity is a disaster. but after a moment, ]
...There are a fair few here who are more optimistic about changing the world around them. I can't aspire to that sort of ambition myself, but I hope they succeed.
[STUCK HAVING TO DEAL WITH FRIENDSHIP GOOBERS SO LUCAS'S VIOLENCE CAN'T JUST RUN AROUND UNLEASHED.
What a mood, though! My god! More people take a page from his serial killing book and go for the middle aged men instead of the vulnerable kids, damn. Lucas isn't fatalistic or pessimistic by nature, but after seeing the same bullshit in place after place and world after world, it's hard not to feel a little hopeless.
The mention of the optimistic goobers here has a little bit of his sorrowful cheeseburger mood lightening, though. Just a bit.]
...I hope so, as well. Many of them have the determination and ability to do so, I think - even if they're just changing things in small ways. Big changes are always heralded by the small ones first, anyway. I'd like to change some of the ills in my own world, too.
[He is going to do it through murder but he's already bloodied his hands so it's fine.]
[ THE FUCKING FRIENDSHIP GOOBERS he has been forced into a friendship situation. there is a not insignificant amount of shame in him when he's confronted with nice feelings. they can both have some catholic guilt even though he's buddhist-coded.
since he's seated and doesn't need it to stay upright on his cane, he takes his other paw and very tentatively enfolds lucas's hands between his own. ]
...Just make sure you don't do more than you can handle.
[ don't just murder people forever if you get catholic guilt for murdering people MAYBE JUST DON'T MURDER PEOPLE ]
It's... not so bad to want to fix things. [ admitted begrudgingly because he is the type to give up and let destiny take the wheel ] But you're recovering, so treat yourself first. You want to be someone your sister will find easy to love.
[ nehan's sister was also a murderer-in-training but he's grown up appreciating that if nothing else, she didn't have to live that way in the end. ]
[FORCES YOUR FURRY INTO FRIENDSHIP FORCES YOUR FURRY INTO FRIENDSHIP can't believe they were just two guilty catholics in trenchcoats all this time (lucas isn't wearing a trenchcoat) maybe so.
There's a little flicker of understanding at the feeling and then a touch of surprise at the gesture, followed by another roll of something warm. He can't hide his friendship goobers. It's a comforting gesture, along with the words said, which he meets with a thin smile.]
I know... I'll certainly wait until I'm well again to try for any of the bigger changes that I think I may be able to help with. My priorities are always with Nadia, and that means being careful as I recover. [Even though he too often just lets destiny take the wheel, so he can understand the begrudging vibes.]
But I'll need to take Nadia away from that hospital first, and while I'm there, I'll at least defang the Society. That isn't more than I can handle.
[He will not feel Catholic Guilt for supermurdering the man that drugged him and kept his sister sick for 8 years... GUOBA GUOBA GOOBY.]
...I hope that you see changes in your home, too. Even if they're small at first. Even if you aren't the one who starts them.
[ HE WASN'T EVEN COVERING IT UP WITH A TRENCHCOAT HE IS JUST FULL BLAST CATHOLIC GUILT ALL OF THE TIME but also please get better at hiding the friendship goobers he does not want these get away from him ]
...If you're sure. You do need to take her somewhere safe.
[ that's fair enough. nehan does believe there are people who deserve death, and the society seems like they could use a little comeuppance. does he think that lucas should have to deal with his own manipulators? no. but lucas can do what he thinks he's capable of living with, at least. ]
My world is... [ ... ] It's a little cleaner now. That particular organization has been mostly destroyed, at least. There will always be another to replace it, always dregs left over, but I've seen meager improvements. We'll see if it sticks.
[LISTEN........ maybe so... ALSO STOP HE'S BAD AT REPRESSING HIS FEELINGS!!! He's just very good at not showing them externally which is terrible during emotionshare week.]
It won't be any additional strain, at least.
[Ortie can simply deal with the viciousness and violence he painstakingly grew within Lucas coming back to remorselessly kill his ass.]
...I'm glad to hear that, though. [And there is a genuine sense of relief, a little flicker of something happy, even if it's far from a truly bettered world.] I hope that it sticks. Even if others replace what's gone, I hope that things can continue to improve, even if bit by bit.
[ shakes hands in emoshare being the worst week actually. still thinking about how this dude did all this because he has a gene boner
again, he is so fatalistic that it's hard to imagine real, lasting change. but it's a nice dream, if only he'll someday allow himself to have it. in the meantime, he's quiet for a moment before finally drawing his hands back, no longer sensing much of that violence in lucas which is very funny because then thursday happens
he speaks softly and hoarsely, like this is a part of his voice that he's forgotten how to use. ]
...If what you want is to make your world a little better, then I hope that's possible.
ALSO I HATE IT HERE. It's fine, the violence is gone for now, even though it will be back with a vengeance Thursday. Oh no. But also, this is such a genuinely touching thing to hear from Nehan, in this voice that's raw and honest, with words probably a little painful to give in the same way that it's a bit painful to receive them. It's the sort of pain to cherish, though. Not because he's an m.]
Thank you. [He keeps saying it even though Nehan is allergic.] One can only continue to try, I suppose... In any case.
[He will politely hold a hand out for his meds, and you can escape from this thread if you wish since im about to bodyslam you for one tomorrow.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He has opinions about that first statement, but keeps them to himself. As for the softer apology and the very true words that follow, there's just a little pang of something sad and a bit nostalgic.]
I suppose that's true. What an inconvenient thing, though, this fog... [It rarely interferes, but when it does, it's always BAD. Then, a bit offhandedly:] ...That was the memory I lost when I returned here after dying in that hospital. I'd been asked how I could know I'd forgotten something since you're not actively thinking about all of your memories all of the time, but...
[Ain't no way in hell his ass would ever forget that. ALSO DONT FORGET TO GIVE ME MEM BEATS YOU UP]
no subject
...I see. How did you feel when you lost it?
[ he's not surprised that lucas would realize exactly what he was missing, once he got it back. everything about him indicates that this would make sense. he tries not to sound too curious, but he is, a little. it must be strange to lose such a formative crux of his existence.
also i will give you a mem after i pick one hm ]
no subject
Anyway, the curiosity is fair enough, and he doesn't seem bothered by the question regardless. Recalling the sensation is unpleasant, though. He can get some of those discomforted vibes.]
I could tell that I was missing something, but not what it was... So at the time, it just felt like that. That there was a part of me that was gone. Strange and empty, but not exactly anything that made me feel upset or angry.
[you better not forget or i will kill you, nu, on the mingle]
no subject
one of his ears flicks, picking up on the discomfort but wondering how that even... works. what happens, when a big enough part of you is gone? ]
...You didn't feel worse? It didn't change you?
[ and don't threaten me with a good time, someone kill me a second time do it ]
no subject
That's a good question, though! He frowns, thinking it over for a second.]
...I think it's likely because taking one memory away doesn't change every part of a person, even if that memory was very big or important. It isn't as though the rest of my memories changed. It was more like... I just didn't remember that moment that made everything afterwards happen.
[Which had been uncomfortable to recall once it was all said and done, but nothing like being a whole new person.]
no subject
...I see. So it didn't change who you resulted in, just your memory of that instance.
[ the whole idea has him looking curious, emotions turned contemplative. but before that gets much further i will give you a memshare before i set up a muppet audience, it's w6 so you can just have the heroin backstory woah fog time
cw: child abuse, slavery, drugs
Fighting back is easy, at first.
You still remember freedom—nights by a fire with your older sister, shelling roasted chestnuts, burning your fingertips when they get too hot. Having to throw out a batch of medicine because you used the wrong ratio of ingredients, and being scolded gently by your parents as they teach you how to properly grind the herbs and not pour in too much reagent.
So when it comes to your masters, you don't spare your venom. You hate them, and you tell them so. They beat you, of course, but there is a little pride in smearing the blood off your lip and not folding immediately. Your life, as devastated as it was, still doesn't feel so impossibly distant. Maybe you can hold out long enough until someone comes and pummels all the evil people here and saves you—maybe you can be strong enough to last.
It's only after your owners discover that you're worth more than the average, skinny little urchin that you realize a few fundamental truths: one, they treated you like nothing, because you were nothing. Now that they can squeeze value out of you, they bear down harder.
And two, you watch another slave die, and know they really will kill you if you don't give in.
Surviving, then, takes tremendous effort. You favor whatever side they don't beat that day, and you huddle with your cellmates for warmth when you have them. You patch up the bloody ruts in your skin yourself where they've taken to hurting you. You mix your own antidotes when they poison what food you do get, even if the pain and panic make it hard to do anything but curl up on the ground and shake. Sometimes all you can do is wait it out, and they toe your side to see you flinch, and you realize they think it's funny.
And what's baffling is—despite it all, you can't bring yourself to give up and die. No matter how much pain it is, how humiliating and hopeless these days are, you always end up struggling to live. Because dying—it's scarier? Somehow, death is always scarier. You miss your sister, you're clutching the legacy of a dead clan, and you're a child, you are terrified to die thinking that this is all you'll get, that being someone else's property is all you amount to now. There must be more to it. There was, once.
But the pain wins eventually, in other ways. It becomes a fight just to survive, to avoid hurt, and you make concessions: as the years pass, you stop letting yourself remember your family. You quit dreaming of rescue, and instead wonder idly—maybe life would've been easier, if you'd been bought by someone else? You forget the shape of freedom. You settle. You don't give your masters any lip, you don't bother blocking a hit because it'll be returned twice as badly; eventually, you hand them the things they want. The secrets your clan so closely guarded: you reveal them in little pieces in the lab that they make for you, where you can mix up concoctions to your heart's content. You use all that forbidden knowledge and eventually manufacture a drug so sweet and so addictive that it floods the criminal underbelly, makes it swollen with activity, fills treatment centers with withdrawal patients too poor to afford their next dose, taints lives all across the skies, and—most crucially—turns your masters into very, very rich men.
And then they treat you kindly.
You get a bed, instead of a cell. Your wounds have time to heal over into ropes of scars. They give you expensive clothes and call you an officer in their ranks, they let you travel for research because they know you won't run out of your cage even if they extend the bars. They laugh and smack your back as though they're your old friends—they praise the way they raised you. They accept you as one of their own without ever quite relinquishing you as their property.
It repulses you. Your surface is still, but it makes everything inside you churn and retch. You hate them and their kindness from your very core, extending through all your matter, stretching through your nerve endings—the entirety of your existence is dedicated to rage and fury and sorrow. You hate ████ for doing this to you. You hate the whole premise of the world for allowing this to happen, for deciding that some people can be turned into instruments and others get to live blissfully unaware. You hate that children can be traded off and no one seems to care where they go. You hate living, you hate how you've sold your clan's dignity, you hate yourself, you hate yourself, your hate extends beyond boundary and limit and it still doesn't make an ounce of difference, it doesn't make a single sound. Because you finally, finally have a shred of freedom, a life you've protected and scraped for, and yet you don't feel safe or happy and probably never will.
It's here, surrounded by creature comforts and guilt, that you wonder why, if this is life, you were ever so scared to die. ]
no subject
Anyway. WOW!!! All of that was nightmarish! Lucas had more or less assumed that horrible bullshit had befallen Nehan after he'd been unfortunate enough to end up in the position of a lone, weak and vulnerable child, but this is an entirely different flavor of nightmare to the one he's only recently awakened to.
The emotions of the memory wash over him, and in return, there's a bright flare of a vivid, violent fury, because the violence implanted in Lucas is simply a part of him now, and this is how it manifests when it's under his own control. Rage against a cruel world that would allow this to happen, against adults who would take advantage of children, against the disgusting sort of people who would make money off of the suffering of others and parade a captive around only after he'd earned them their wealth, making merry and pretending that the abuse of the past was just the smallest blip.
He's livid, he's so angry, always the angriest for the children. It's a good thing he's not holding anything glass or his dumb ass would have broken it again!!!! As things are, the memory comes and goes like the tide, and as it leaves, he whips his head around to look for Nehan, as if he's afraid that he might have somehow fucking evaporated in the moments of misery that passed through.]
no subject
the empathetic violence is strange. nehan is removed from these experiences now, or resigned to them; the bitterness and hatred are still there, but not nearly as fierce as it once was. just here and gone again, on occasion.
he is just sitting here calmly when it ends and lucas looks for him, his emotions the equivalent of white noise. the world really does suck sometimes, but WHAT CAN YOU DO. he sees the tension in him and refrains from reaching out, just in case, almost soothing when he speaks. ]
...It's all right. Just a memory. [ deep breaths!!! no more glass paws!!!!! ]
no subject
Nehan's out here being white noise and Lucas is just like what if I simply kill everyone in this bar. It's too late to help Nehan, who never had a savior show up through any of that miserable slog, but if his purpose is going to be to kill demons, he might as well kill some actual demons, damn.
His arms raise, but so he can fold his hands together as if preparing to pray. Violence be quiet...]
...There's no need to tell me that... [Says he who is radiating murderous malice.] ...The hands that found you - theirs, correct?
no subject
lucas please your violence. sometimes killing really is the answer, but as hateful as nehan is, he is a healer and a mender first and foremost; he doesn't have a natural inclination to harm, so this is very strange and new and a little frightening to absorb.
at the same time, because he has mental illness, he is somewhat... touched........? he's used to being angry, but after all this time spent looking after himself, it's strange to suddenly comprehend the full force of someone who really would break all the people who did this in half if things had played out a little earlier, in another life. it's not specific to him, he doesn't actually want it, but it is... something to process. nothing about this interaction is healthy. ]
Correct. ...Ours was a remote and ostracized village, for good reason. I didn't know what I was doing at the time, so I was caught and sold off eventually.
But that's not an unusual story. I imagine it happens in most worlds, even yours. [ just rounding back to earlier points: people just take advantage of the weak and lost all of the time. ]
no subject
Also listen. Killing is the answer sometimes... Nehan doesn't like murder but SOMETIMES MURDER IS DESERVED!!!!!
This is truly so abnormal and funny though. Please don't be touched about a serial killer who could and would absolutely murder the shit out of your captives from years long past. Or do be, because sometimes that's the biggest kindness life can give you! Just a real strong guy who's here to kill your problems.
He's trying to reel the murderous instinct back under control, though. It still feels like a natural part of him even though it didn't start that way, even though a part of it is, now.]
...Most likely. There are dark spaces in the alleys of any city with people in it, it seems... If there's room for the darkness of a person's heart, there's room for those who would take advantage of the young and vulnerable. [A beat.] ...Why was your village ostracized? Your trade...?
no subject
so after a second, he reaches out, gently putting a paw on lucas's joined hands. that is enough murderous impulse even if he appreciates the thought, there there. ]
...Yes. Karm was very secretive, and only ever really met outsiders to arrange contracts for killing. Even our names and faces were never really meant to be shared. [ no one fucking trusts a village when your main export is assassinations and you wear freaky masks all the time ] But in the end, the major port cities are that much more dangerous, I think. Too much of that dark intent. [ too many places to get lost and disappear. ] I didn't realize that as a child, is all.
no subject
Ah... Well. Given the trade in question here, I suppose that makes sense. [Their secrecy and the lack of trust others held toward them. GIVEN THE ASSASSINATIONS... But he does nod at that. Arpechele is too small to have the sort of criminal underbelly of a place with port cities and large capitals, but he can still understand it well enough.]
The world would be better off without those who would take advantage of children. [MURDER IS BACK murder is being chokeholded again.] ...I should like to see a place in which this is possible, but the nature of people itself would have to change.
no subject
though his own feelings do take a sour turn at that. he's had time to repress and resign himself to his own memories, but the general suffering of other kids is still a tough pill to swallow. ]
It would, and I don't expect it to.
[ fatalism, baby. humanity is a disaster. but after a moment, ]
...There are a fair few here who are more optimistic about changing the world around them. I can't aspire to that sort of ambition myself, but I hope they succeed.
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What a mood, though! My god! More people take a page from his serial killing book and go for the middle aged men instead of the vulnerable kids, damn. Lucas isn't fatalistic or pessimistic by nature, but after seeing the same bullshit in place after place and world after world, it's hard not to feel a little hopeless.
The mention of the optimistic goobers here has a little bit of his sorrowful cheeseburger mood lightening, though. Just a bit.]
...I hope so, as well. Many of them have the determination and ability to do so, I think - even if they're just changing things in small ways. Big changes are always heralded by the small ones first, anyway. I'd like to change some of the ills in my own world, too.
[He is going to do it through murder but he's already bloodied his hands so it's fine.]
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since he's seated and doesn't need it to stay upright on his cane, he takes his other paw and very tentatively enfolds lucas's hands between his own. ]
...Just make sure you don't do more than you can handle.
[ don't just murder people forever if you get catholic guilt for murdering people MAYBE JUST DON'T MURDER PEOPLE ]
It's... not so bad to want to fix things. [ admitted begrudgingly because he is the type to give up and let destiny take the wheel ] But you're recovering, so treat yourself first. You want to be someone your sister will find easy to love.
[ nehan's sister was also a murderer-in-training but he's grown up appreciating that if nothing else, she didn't have to live that way in the end. ]
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There's a little flicker of understanding at the feeling and then a touch of surprise at the gesture, followed by another roll of something warm. He can't hide his friendship goobers. It's a comforting gesture, along with the words said, which he meets with a thin smile.]
I know... I'll certainly wait until I'm well again to try for any of the bigger changes that I think I may be able to help with. My priorities are always with Nadia, and that means being careful as I recover. [Even though he too often just lets destiny take the wheel, so he can understand the begrudging vibes.]
But I'll need to take Nadia away from that hospital first, and while I'm there, I'll at least defang the Society. That isn't more than I can handle.
[He will not feel Catholic Guilt for supermurdering the man that drugged him and kept his sister sick for 8 years... GUOBA GUOBA GOOBY.]
...I hope that you see changes in your home, too. Even if they're small at first. Even if you aren't the one who starts them.
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...If you're sure. You do need to take her somewhere safe.
[ that's fair enough. nehan does believe there are people who deserve death, and the society seems like they could use a little comeuppance. does he think that lucas should have to deal with his own manipulators? no. but lucas can do what he thinks he's capable of living with, at least. ]
My world is... [ ... ] It's a little cleaner now. That particular organization has been mostly destroyed, at least. There will always be another to replace it, always dregs left over, but I've seen meager improvements. We'll see if it sticks.
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It won't be any additional strain, at least.
[Ortie can simply deal with the viciousness and violence he painstakingly grew within Lucas coming back to remorselessly kill his ass.]
...I'm glad to hear that, though. [And there is a genuine sense of relief, a little flicker of something happy, even if it's far from a truly bettered world.] I hope that it sticks. Even if others replace what's gone, I hope that things can continue to improve, even if bit by bit.
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again, he is so fatalistic that it's hard to imagine real, lasting change. but it's a nice dream, if only he'll someday allow himself to have it. in the meantime, he's quiet for a moment before finally drawing his hands back, no longer sensing much of that violence in lucas which is very funny because then thursday happens
he speaks softly and hoarsely, like this is a part of his voice that he's forgotten how to use. ]
...If what you want is to make your world a little better, then I hope that's possible.
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ALSO I HATE IT HERE. It's fine, the violence is gone for now, even though it will be back with a vengeance Thursday. Oh no. But also, this is such a genuinely touching thing to hear from Nehan, in this voice that's raw and honest, with words probably a little painful to give in the same way that it's a bit painful to receive them. It's the sort of pain to cherish, though. Not because he's an m.]
Thank you. [He keeps saying it even though Nehan is allergic.] One can only continue to try, I suppose... In any case.
[He will politely hold a hand out for his meds, and you can escape from this thread if you wish since im about to bodyslam you for one tomorrow.]