You've noticed it as well, haven't you? The absence of birdsong. No cheerful children singing their tunes, no animals roaming the wilds. To call this place cursed would be no exaggeration. The silence is dreadful— and altogether unnatural.
Heh! If you say so, then I have no choice but to believe you, non? But you'll have to forgive me if that's no mean feat to accept. Men like you tend to be delightfully unpredictable.
Ah, but if I told you, that would spoil the fun, non? Let's just say you wear the mask of a gentleman very well... though I do wonder what sort of face hides beneath.
Ah, but that's what all the dangerous ones say, isn't it? "I am what I am..." It sounds so honest, so simple— almost like a confession meant to distract from the rest.
Ah, but death and happiness are not so far removed, non? I have died many times, in many ways, and yet here I am— still smiling, still chasing joy. There is a peculiar bliss in surrendering to the end, if only to rise again and taste life anew.
So you see, père... one needn't choose between the two.
Heh... you speak as though my soul were still intact to begin with. But I appreciate the sentiment, truly.
[Lobelia's voice dropping to something quieter— less flippant, though no less self-assured.]
Besides, there's a certain... clarity that comes with dying. You learn what truly lingers when everything else falls away. I would not trade that knowledge for anything.
Why do you think it's not? Because you're a sinner?
[Aren't they all sinners, under the light of God?]
Hm. [A chilling admission. His own expression seems a little more somber, troubled.] Knowledge is one thing. I think it doesn't lead you to your happiness, though.
Ah, mais non, not because of sin. Sin requires repentance, non? And I have none to give.
[He smiles, and while not where Hansa can see it, surely he can hear it in his voice. It's the kind of smile that might belong to a man confessing something he's long made peace with.]
You may be right about knowledge. It is a fine substitute for happiness, though. It's cold, bright, and heavy enough to fill the void when joy will not come.
...I don't know if I believe that. One can always find repentance. Or maybe it hasn't found you, yet. The only ones who have no repentance are walking corpses.
[Sad, how sad. He doesn't want to pity the man, and he won't allow himself too. Still, it feels like staring down at someone down a well, who wants to live there.]
Then you need to find something who will fill that. Someone, even. The world is your oyster. It still is open to you.
[Then is he merely a walking corpse? The thought annoys him. Absurd, insulting, and yet it lingers. Lobelia scoffs under his breath, a brittle sound that fails to fully mask his irritation.
It's been some time since anyone’s managed to dig their fingers in quite so deep. Father Hansa does have a talent for it, doesn't he?]
Oh? You speak like an expert on the subject. I wouldn't have guessed you were a marieur as well as a priest.
Well then, won't you point me in the right direction? Don't tell me the rest is in my hands.
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You've noticed it as well, haven't you? The absence of birdsong. No cheerful children singing their tunes, no animals roaming the wilds. To call this place cursed would be no exaggeration. The silence is dreadful— and altogether unnatural.
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[He wipes a hand down the face, feeling tired.]
And now someone is dead? Tell me if that's a joke.
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What will you do, père? Rather, what can you do?
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[What can he do?]
[What should he do...?]
I suppose some would say I should deliver divine justice. But I don't play judge and jury. Only the executioner.
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You know... you carry the scent of blood on you. I would scarcely have taken you for a saint, had you not declared it yourself.
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[He smiles, rueful.]
Only the blood of monsters. How did you sniff that out?
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Mm? I simply have a nose for these things. Does that concern you?
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No. I simply don't like scaring people off. I'm a nice guy!
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And what are "men like me"?
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[He stares at Lobelia for a long moment.]
Don't flatter me. I'm hardly a gentleman. And I don't wear many faces, either. I am what I am. That's all there is to it.
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Ah, but that's what all the dangerous ones say, isn't it? "I am what I am..." It sounds so honest, so simple— almost like a confession meant to distract from the rest.
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[Again, a simple confession.]
Were you expecting something more drastic?
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I thought you wanted happiness, not death. You're really confusing me here, Lobelia.
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So you see, père... one needn't choose between the two.
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That's sad. Don't die again, Lobelia. Tasting death so many times only erodes the soul, I'd think.
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[Lobelia's voice dropping to something quieter— less flippant, though no less self-assured.]
Besides, there's a certain... clarity that comes with dying. You learn what truly lingers when everything else falls away. I would not trade that knowledge for anything.
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[Aren't they all sinners, under the light of God?]
Hm. [A chilling admission. His own expression seems a little more somber, troubled.] Knowledge is one thing. I think it doesn't lead you to your happiness, though.
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[He smiles, and while not where Hansa can see it, surely he can hear it in his voice. It's the kind of smile that might belong to a man confessing something he's long made peace with.]
You may be right about knowledge. It is a fine substitute for happiness, though. It's cold, bright, and heavy enough to fill the void when joy will not come.
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[Sad, how sad. He doesn't want to pity the man, and he won't allow himself too. Still, it feels like staring down at someone down a well, who wants to live there.]
Then you need to find something who will fill that. Someone, even. The world is your oyster. It still is open to you.
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It's been some time since anyone’s managed to dig their fingers in quite so deep. Father Hansa does have a talent for it, doesn't he?]
Oh? You speak like an expert on the subject. I wouldn't have guessed you were a marieur as well as a priest.
Well then, won't you point me in the right direction? Don't tell me the rest is in my hands.
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[Speak to him in his mother language Please...put some SPANISH into it binch....]
Hm? You want me to guide you? [So he's open to it? That's good.] I'd like to get to know you better. But I'll see where I can help.
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[What have the Spanish ever done for the Skydom?]
Ah, but do not treat me like some enigma to be unraveled! If you have a question, ask. I am an open book, oui?
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