[ He should leave. He needs to leave. Every last corner of his mind screams at him to turn and walk away, and his knuckles pale as he digs his nails into his palm. Vangeance knows that no good can come of staying here — he’s already allowed himself too much, indulged too much, showed too much.
He should leave.
But in the end, after a long, tense moment, Vangeance exhales softly, then sits back down. He’s spent years bottling up his thoughts and hiding his treachery. He can hold on for a little longer. He mustn’t be weak.
Vangeance is sure now that a more somber, weary side lurks behind that cheery persona Abel usually shows, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Callousness doesn’t suit this man. Abel clearly doesn’t want to be ‘cruel’ — or whatever facsimile of ‘cruel’ he’s capable of — and if he can save Abel from that pain that by enduring for a little longer, then he shouldn’t be selfish.
Vangeance gazes expectantly across the table, even as he feels dread coil tight around his lungs. ]
[ he can see how difficult this is for him. every instinct has to be screaming out for Vangance to leave; it's palpable in the air, the sudden tension as his company battles with the desire to separate himself from this. it earns a great deal of respect that... in the end, the man once more takes his seat.
Abel offers an apologetic, and grateful smile; his heart aches viciously in his chest for him. ...he really does hurt to look at. ]
[ he wants to understand. it isn't for curiosity's sake - and he knows he isn't owed the answer. but as he said... he can be cruel though his motivations are much different than they used to be. he'll demand what he has no right to. he can be many things for the sake of doing all he can to dispel that look from Vangeance's eyes. ]
[ How much can Abel already guess at? How much has he already slipped? Vangeance’s eyes narrow at Abel’s words — ‘whatever you’ve resigned yourself to’ — and adds harsh self-admonishment to the pile of putrid emotions sitting in his chest. ]
... it isn’t lonely. [ He answers first, softly, then pauses. Amends. ] Though I suppose it might seem that way.
[ In truth, he’s not sure. Is he lonely? His problem doesn’t feel like one of solitude, not since he was much younger. If anything, he has too much — two people to love and cherish, two causes to believe in, two lights to his life that he wouldn’t mind dying for. And while it’s true that his circumstances are unique, that there isn’t anyone he can consult ... any loneliness he feels is nothing compared to the hurt he’ll be leaving behind.
Vangeance gazes out the window as he mulls over his words. ]
But there are far greater pains than solitude, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure you know of far worse. On a personal level.
[ After all, the somber shadow he’s seen in Abel’s eyes isn’t one that could be born of a pampered, peaceful, happy life. ]
[ loneliness - and solitude - was a terrible sort of pain. it came in many different forms. it wasn't only the kind associated with pining after company; one could be surrounded by others, be beloved by many, and be incredibly alone. he feels Vangeance is acquainted with that feeling, well.
but it could also the crushing loneliness of being ostracized; the solitude of watching others obtain a happiness you will never know yourself. it's loving someone, and then having to live without them. sometimes, it's standing by their side and knowing there's nothing you can do for them. maybe Vangeance knew one or many of these; it didn't matter which.
they were all terrible and perfectly capable of destroying a man. ]
It was in your eyes. When speaking about the Admin. It was personal, for you.
[ He holds his breath for a moment, deliberating, then sighs. ]
In a fashion, yes.
[ He relents easily on this matter. Because he isn’t confident in his ability to hide it — the deep connection he feels to the Administrator’s plight. It carries the same desperate stench as Patry’s pain and rage and grief, which he’s harbored and justified and viscerally lived through for most of his life. Vangeance swallows thickly, then meets Abel’s gaze with a sidelong glance. ]
But I’m capable of separating my feelings from my work. If you’re afraid I’ll kill him for personal reasons ... I wouldn’t blame you for being worried, but I promise you that won’t happen. I simply want to ensure the safety of everyone here.
[ That isn’t the point, is it? Abel isn’t so simple a man that he’d prolong this tortuous conversation just for the Administrator’s physical safety. Vangeance knows that Abel is aiming for something else entirely, but this placid attempt to divert and conclude is his unspoken plea for Abel not to dig any further. ]
[ 'cruel,' he'd warned him. he refuses to give an out. for someone who had been hiding behind masks - figuratively and literally, perhaps - for most of his life, maybe he hadn't come across this before. it was... sad, if true. was there no one who had tried to pull out the man beneath them...?
he leans back in his chair, heaving a quiet sigh. ]
How do you relate?
[ Vangeance had denied the similarity to himself in Admin's plight. had he been deflecting...? no, the guilt had been so real in his eyes when he'd spoken those words. it meant something. then, someone else? a loved one, who held the same grim conviction? maybe...
...he forces the thoughts aside, focusing wholly on the knight with an expectant, but patient, silence. ]
[ Of course that wouldn’t work. Vangeance returns his gaze to the window. Abel’s eyes leave fine pinpricks of sensation against his skin, like needles burrowing deep. Maybe that’s why there’s a faint edge to his words when he finally responds. ]
Why do you ask, Abel?
[ He knows the answer to that. It’s because Abel is a fundamentally good person, sincerely worried for someone who appears to be suffering alone. So as much as it pains him, he can’t leave it at that question alone. Vangeance continues quietly. ]
You’ve said you’re speaking not as a priest, but as an individual. I’ve told you my feelings won’t affect my actions, and I’ve asked you to drop the matter. You’re willing to be ‘cruel.’ So you can’t driven by sympathy alone. Then — are you acting on your past experiences? [ ’Underhanded,’ his conscience hisses in his ear. ’Cowardly.’ And it truly is a cheap move, attempting to turn the matter back on Abel. ] Was there someone else in your past you interrogated in this fashion? I’d be curious to know if it worked.
[ perhaps he was pushing too hard. he knew if he did, what respect he's earned (however ill-deserved) will evaporate in the face of self-preservation, and Vangeance was likely to leave. Abel wouldn't go so far as to try and keep him here by force - he didn't want this to go so far, regardless. he wanted him to talk... because he needed to talk, didn't he? William just didn't know it yet.
there's no outward sign to give the other man inclination as to whether or not his words hit their mark. instead, Abel simply waits in silence, finding his hands loosely clasped around the rosary where its settled in his lap, draped from its long chain. the quiet patience and concern in blue eyes says everything for him.
he can wait. will wait. misdirect all he likes; they both know what it means. ]
[ The silence stretches on for a long moment, broken only by the soft click of rosary beads. Vangeance watches the way the light dances off them, bright and clean. Like Abel’s gaze. ]
... demanding the trust of others without trusting them in return isn’t cruelty. It’s cowardice. [ He smiles bitterly to himself. For real, this time, not that manufactured look he’s perfected since childhood. Hurt and weary and pathetic. ] I would know it very well.
[ Some respect does vanish, though it’s replaced by sympathy. The relief a wounded and ugly beast feels when spotting one of its ilk. ‘So even a man like you harbors a side like that,’ Vangeance muses at the back of his mind, and he hates himself (even more, even more) for thinking it. His head hurts, joining all the other pains compounding in his nerves, and he closes his eyes. ]
The matter you’re prying at ... it’s connected to the problem the Administrator addressed in his note to me. It’s something I’ve never discussed with anyone. Abel, I’m sure you wouldn’t wish to treat me the same way he has, regardless of how sympathetic you are towards him.
[ Demanding entry into, or simply invading into deep, dark territory which shouldn’t be touched. ]
Please give me your reasons — your true reasons. I feel it’s the least you can offer me first.
[ 'Demanding the trust of others without trusting them in return it's cruelty. It's cowardice.'
the words were, admittedly, true. it was cowardly. he wasn't wrong. that Vangeance recognized it in himself as well as Abel solidified his suspicions; 'birds of a feather' after all, it seems. the priest finds his smile a tad rueful, and he nudges at his glasses while he watches him - though the look in his eyes is absent.
'something in the Admin's note he not discussed with anyone.' it made that unpleasant little niggle of irritation flare up from somewhere old and buried; some things were not meant to find the tongues of others unbidden. but Admin knew these things, and he freely dispensed disquiet while he spoke so flippantly of them. waved them in front of the eyes of his captives. Vangeance hadn't been spared that displeasure.
but the confidence they discussed between them were different. ones freely offered were different than ones taken. the Magic Knight is right; he is asking for trust with nothing given in reciprocation. 'cruel,' Abel'd claimed, 'cruel for a good cause.' is it still for the cause's sake, or the same sort of cowardly self-preservation he was trying to erode in his new friend? the thought has an uncomfortable flip-flop settling in his stomach.
...he wavers. it's not something he bothers to hide, either - reluctance, and that cowardice they share. no matter how justified he feels his reasons for keeping secrets (--people don't trust monsters, don't reach their hands out them in their time of need; he deserves none of the mercy of a gentle hand returned in kind--), he knows Vangeance won't accept they're there without explanation. all he'll see is a foolish hypocrite asking for everything, greedily, and giving nothing back. even so, even acknowledging that fact, it is... so... impossibly hard to let go.
after the silence had stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time... a grim, muted resignation settles over his face.
Abel lifts the rosary, a heavy and time-worn thing almost too large to fit in the palm of his hand. he settles its weight on the table in front of him and the long, elaborate chain pools beside it. ]
You asked me if I had interrogated anyone else, this way.
[ his hand atop the trinket lets it rest, somewhere in the middle of the table between them. then he draws his hand away and sits back, leaving it where it is. ]
I haven't. But... someone else interrogated me. [ his eyes, fixed on the rosary, are somewhere else - with the woman who wore this with much more grace than Abel does. ] And she taught me how important it is to have someone on your side, even... ...no.
[ He assumes they’ve reached an impasse at first. The silence that lingers between them is like a dense curtain, stifling to breathe through, and Vangeance exhales slowly. Of course this is the conclusion they would reach. Two wounded beasts warily circling each other, alert to the smell of blood, but unwilling to draw any closer. And that’s acceptable, he supposes. Abel has time, and loved ones waiting for him back home; someone more suitable will be there to care for his injuries someday. This may be how things were meant to conclude.
There’s the clatter of the rosary chain on the table just as he’s about to take his leave.
The sound cuts through the silence like a blade, instantly commanding all of his attention; the heavy thump of that cross further nails him into place. The weight of it must be tremendous, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. There’s a palpable gravity to the way Abel sets it down, his hand lingering for a moment too long before pulling away, and when he sees that faraway look in Abel’s eyes, Vangeance immediately knows —
it’s a memento.
Everything else falls into place afterwards as he listens to Abel’s words. Connects them to everything Abel has said so far. Thinks back to that brief glimmer of surprise he’d spotted earlier, and the traces of something more somber he’d caught lurking in the depth of those clear, blue eyes. Vangeance regards Abel quietly afterward; that smile of his has faded, replaced by a look of quiet contemplation, and after a long moment of silence, he speaks plainly. ]
Your strength is admirable.
[ Because Abel ... has also done something heinous, hasn’t he? That’s why he was interrogated. That’s why he’s so adamant that there is no ‘point of no return.’ That’s why he so powerfully believes in extending a merciful hand even to those who’ve done wrong.
It’s the sort of attitude that could be seen as despicable coming from another man. The flailings of a person desperate to save themselves, trying to persuade themselves that their own sins could be absolved. But Vangeance can recognize the pain and reluctance in Abel’s confession, a genuine fear of addressing his own past. Abel believes in mercy, but not for his own sake. The sincerity in his voice hadn’t been anything that could be easily faked. Vangeance believes Abel’s convictions are true, and not just because he wants to believe in them. ]
A lesson like that ... must have been difficult to learn. To truly accept. But having the willingness and ability to deliver it to others afterward ...
[ It would be impossible for him, he’s sure.
Vangeance drops his gaze to that rosary, imagining what kind of person taught Abel that lesson. What kind of person could have imparted such warmth, and given him such endless resilience. What kind of person Abel was so influenced by, then lost. ]
[ the words are gentle, but firm. he won’t permit any misunderstandings after coming this far. there’s no room for half-truths or placating lies, here, not even for the sake of his facade. it’s cold and ugly, but it’s honest. ]
I was carried by those who walk with me, or I wouldn’t have started walking at all.
[ he hadn’t been brave. he hadn’t soldiered on after he had learned the lessons she had tried to teach him, hadn’t become some wise and benevolent force for good on her behalf. he hadn’t even tried to protect the only family he had left from the consequences of his actions.
he had locked himself away, buried himself like a ghost, and disappeared from the ruins of what he’d destroyed — because Vangeance had been absolutely right.
he was a coward. ]
But there are some things we simply have to do, whether we have the strength or not. I have to fix what I’ve broken, and you... I will pray you haven’t taken that last step and broken it, just yet.
[ his eyes are sharper. holding the quiet edge of someone desperate. he’s searching Vangeance with an undeniable and piercing attentiveness, as if he hoped if he stared hard enough, he could see the answer even if it isn’t given aloud. ]
...You haven’t, have you? There’s still... hope.
[ please tell him, Vangeance, that you haven’t yet crossed that line. he doesn’t think you have, but... maybe, just maybe, you’re terrifyingly close. ]
[ Is that not strength, though? The ability to forge on and do what’s necessary despite the pain, despite the guilt. Even if it’s born from the support of others, the resilience and sincerity that Abel has shown are still very real, and Vangeance feels a hot sting in his chest. Not pity, never, but not quite sympathy, either.
Maybe it’s the simple desire to see this man stop hurting.
That painful desire is still rife in his gaze, obvious despite the shadow cast by his mask, and it only doubles when Abel looks to him with clear desperation. ]
... I ...
[ He wants to lie. To say that there’s hope, that he’s learned the lesson Abel is working so hard to impart. But the words catch in his throat like glass shards, choking him at the last second. To lie now, after he’s finally wrung this agonizing truth from Abel, would be unforgivably cruel. Vangeance forces himself to meet the piercing blue of Abel’s gaze even when it feels like his heart is threatening to rip itself asunder. ]
... I don’t know. [ Pathetic. He smiles but it feels difficult, and what he manages is terribly vulnerable and frail. There’s a grim determination in his voice, his words steady despite the dark haze of regret in his eyes. ] That will be decided for me very soon. And I must play my part in it. The moment of judgement.
[ Vangeance is, despite how hard he works to the contrary, quite an expressive man. it's in the subtleties - a tightness in his eyes. a breath that isn't quite as shallow as the last. a tension, belied in the set of his fingers where his hand rests on the table.
Abel can see he's trying.
he's struggling against something. himself, maybe; his nature? maybe even the truth. Abel isn't sure, but his heart hurts for him.
there's already regret, and guilt, and weariness in all of Vangeance's edges. even if he hasn't passed the threshold of no return, he's hovering on the precipice... teetering, dangerously. and the fact he's aware of that fact, that morbid reality... ]
...The moment of judgment.
[ it's echoed almost absently. the weight of those words feels heavy, almost oppressive on his tongue. judgment. ]
Decided for you... [ 'for' him. ] Why...?
[ what have you gotten yourself into, Vangeance...? ]
[ ‘Why,’ Abel asks. Such a simple question, and yet it makes his head spin. Makes his next breath catch in his throat, a cold hand gripping tight around all his innards. The sick feeling he’s been tamping down the entire time threatens to spill over, and Vangeance forces himself to take a slow breath.
He’d thought himself prepared. Back in the Clover Kingdom, he’d spent so many sleepless nights thinking about what he would tell Julius, how he would apologize and explain himself, what his last words might be. But the circumstances now are so different; here, in this strange world, there’s a silent void in his chest and no mentor to look to. He’s spent his entire time here avoiding thinking about the details of what awaits him back in the Kingdom, reducing it to a single objective of ‘I must return.’ How can he explain any of this to Abel? If he even should at all.
His voice catches in his throat before he manages to speak again, steady but distant. ]
Because ... I was unable to choose.
[ His gaze drops to that rosary where it still lies on the table, his hand tense. The desire to stand and leave is almost overwhelming, and it shows in the tense line of his shoulders. ]
So they will make the decision for me. [ Vangeance’s voice lowers to something soft, full of love and longing and pain. ] The two people dearest to me, who can never coexist.
[ it's no secret, how difficult this must be to speak of. Abel wondered if he had opened up about this to anyone else, and from the expression on Vangeance's face, the almost sickly sort of fear and loathing vivid and alight in his eyes... he would guess he hadn't.
maybe it was best, this way. talking to someone little more than an acquaintance. detached and far away from his world, his life, everyone he knew and who knew him.
Abel's brow furrows further with a mixture of sympathy, and something else - something a little more unreadable. he's unable to choose between two people he loves and respects... at a cross-roads. ]
What will happen to you, if you let them choose?
[ he won't ask why he cannot choose. it's self-evident. co-existence was a muddy, murky sort of state of being for many - and being caught between the two worlds of loved ones... he is, sadly, entirely sympathetic to that plight. it's a little... ironic, all things considered.
Abel's indecision landed him in the very same place Vangeance's would, he imagined. and that... that thought genuinely terrifies him. ]
What will happen to them...?
[ would he really be able to sit by and watch one destroy the other...? ]
[ He only smiles absently when Abel asks what will happen to him, a thoughtless and automatic response. That part is inconsequential. Death as a traitor or eternal sleep in a body claimed by a new and rightful owner — he doesn’t particularly care which fate awaits him.
But the question of what will happen to them, his loved ones ... ]
One of them will be considered righteous.
[ The other will probably die. His beloved mentor, ever gracious and wise and generous, or his dearest friend, who’s known an inhuman level of suffering and deserves so much more. He would give up every last scrap of himself to save them both, and his heart screams at the knowledge that that’s impossible.
But Abel knows that, doesn’t he? Even if it’s not spelled out for him. Maybe he’s witnessed something similar in the past. Vangeance can see the deep sympathy and recognition in Abel’s eyes, and because he’s a coward, he’ll take any excuse not to have to speak of this matter any more. He directs his words towards the rosary still lying on the table: ]
... I’m sorry, but I really should leave. [ There’s a note of weary finality to those quiet words, though Vangeance doesn’t stand without Abel’s acknowledgement this time. Because they’ve reached some sort of tacit understanding — they’re two damaged beasts agreeing to share the stories behind their scars. Abel had spoken, so he feels he can’t leave without upholding his part of the deal to Abel’s satisfaction. He’s tired, though, and he’s reaching the limits of how many ugly emotions he can keep chained down in his chest, that pervasive, sickly feeling starting to reach its apex. ] I’m sure you must also be tired and recovering from recent events.
[ ah. so Vangeance really cares so little about his own fate, in the end. it wasn't even worth his consideration, was that it...? that little smile was unnerving and disturbing for everything it said without words. it made something cold and unpleasant run down his spine in recognition.
he doesn't like this at all.
it wasn't just about the 'fate' he'd resigned himself to. it went beyond that; he would've had to think so little of himself for so long for it to reach this tipping point. he'd stopped seeing himself as someone deserving of a future, to get this far. it was completely at odds with the sympathetic, kind, warm-eyed smiles of earlier... no; that isn't quite right, is it? even then, they had been fringed by sadness. it never truly went away.
his hands mechanically settle in his lap. ]
...I'll believe in what you can't, for now.
[ his future - his sense of self-worth... that he can find a way to avoid that terrible, empty end. ]
I'm with you. So, between the two of us, maybe... maybe, we can...
[ ...can find a way, one day. maybe in this place full of impossibilities, there would be a chance, some... some shot in hell, some one in a million opportunity to open his eyes to something... even just the chance he might realize his life was meaningful, that he... was a good man, beneath it all. that he deserved a chance to live, to protect both halves of his heart held by those he loved. surely, for someone who wanted such a pure, sincere thing... surely, there would be a way. there would... be...
...he wouldn't let him give up, god... damnit. ]
Please-- hold on, until then. Please don't give up.
[ He doesn’t understand at first. What Abel says he’ll believe in, and what he’s hoping they can achieve. Vangeance looks up from the rosary to stare wearily at Abel, brow knit beneath the shadow of his mask and eyes narrowed in scrutiny. ‘Don’t give up,’ Abel says, as if he’d ever even considered giving up on his duties. He will do everything he can for the people here, and return to the Kingdom to play out his role.
— ah. That’s not it, though, is it.
His eyes widen as the realization sets in. Then his shoulders slump just a fraction, buckling under the weight of the emotions that wash through him — a breathtaking wave of gratitude and admiration and guilt. To think that Abel would still be so sympathetic towards a self-professed coward and traitor, so prepared to watch his loved ones kill each other. He really is a terrible bleeding heart, isn’t it. Truly kind and merciful, whatever his past may have been.
The sort of man who shouldn’t have to continue tormenting himself. ]
... I’m very glad you’re here, Abel. [ His smile’s lost that polished quality, and it’s just frank fondness that shines through his exhaustion. ] You said what you possess isn’t strength, but I would know no other word for it.
[ Abel had voiced no further questions, so Vangeance takes it as implicit permission to leave. There’s the quiet thump of his boots against the floor as he stands, but after a moment’s pause, he steps around the table. His movements are gentle and reverent, picking up the rosary with the utmost care, making sure to cup the chain with his other hand to keep it from tangling as he holds it out for Abel to take. ]
I’m sure the person who left this in your care would be very proud of you.
[ Vangeance was faced with an impossible decision. his indecision was natural as much as it was heartbreaking. it was an unfathomably difficult place for anyone to be in, and only a fool would envy him for it.
but...
the priest can’t help but wonder at the inevitability of this confrontation, that little niggle of hope and muted desperation on the other man’s behalf refusing to go unacknowledged. would Vangeance really be able to wash his hands of choice and accept his fate...? let the cards fall where they would? when the time came... would he really be able to watch one of his most precious people kill the other...? this man with a heart capable of love, of being loved by others — by seeing and seeking kindness in others, would he really...
...ah. he’s stolen from his thoughts as he realizes the footsteps he’s heard aren’t those of the Magic Knight readying to take his leave. Vangeance is here, instead — Lilith’s rosary dangling from his fingers. the irony of such a person holding it with reverence, understanding some small measure of its worth... doesn’t escape him.
...
Abel reaches out, unable to stop the smile of weary gratitude from reaching his lips as he takes the precious memento. he hadn’t needed any more reasons to find himself fond of this man, but... here was another. ]
...I look forward to our next cup of tea, William.
[ he wouldn’t blame him for desperately wanting to avoid Abel after this. but he also knew Vangeance was a man of his word, and... eventually, some sense of that duty he held despite it all would bring him back. he’s impossibly kind to everyone except himself, this one. he cares too much for a world he separates himself from by layers of well-placed facade, quick to judge himself and just as quick to forgive others their transgressions. he deserves better than this.
[ He should probably keep his distance. Only do his duty as a Knight and guarantee Abel’s safety, but otherwise keep a gulf between them, refrain from bridging that gap any more than he already has. Because his is a sin that doesn’t deserve forgiveness or mercy, and the fact that Abel is willing to extend that invitation to him means he isn’t an impartial judge. Abel is a good man despite his claims otherwise, someone who’ll be able to do much to help the people of this place, and to waste his time any more than he already has would be counter to his duties as a Knight.
Vangeance knows, knows that he should politely reject that invitation and never come here again. ]
... of course.
[ But he is, in the end, a selfish coward. That acquiescence comes out soft, his voice low, but not reluctant. Vangeance watches the way Abel holds the rosary so carefully in his hands, like the precious memento it is, and he knows he won’t be able to stay away.
Because Abel is a good person, and he desperately wants to witness that proof of humanity’s worth. This kind man, so determined to save others despite his own old wounds, willing to accept anything and anyone even as he refuses to accept himself ... the kind of person most able to help others, because of, not in spite of his sordid past. All Vangeance has ever wanted is to ensure people’s safety and happiness, and while he’s utterly failed so many people in that respect ... maybe he’ll be permitted to watch Abel attain that goal. Maybe he can allow himself to behold a tiny sliver of that warmth in the name of keeping Abel safe. Maybe he’ll be forgiven for that selfish desire, if only because it’s for a good cause.
His gaze lingers for a moment longer — tinged with unspoken admiration and guilt and devotion — before he finally gives a small nod. ]
Please take care. I’m sure we’ll meet again before long.
[ Vangeance turns away, and he doesn’t look back as he leaves. He doesn’t permit himself that luxury. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He should leave.
But in the end, after a long, tense moment, Vangeance exhales softly, then sits back down. He’s spent years bottling up his thoughts and hiding his treachery. He can hold on for a little longer. He mustn’t be weak.
Vangeance is sure now that a more somber, weary side lurks behind that cheery persona Abel usually shows, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Callousness doesn’t suit this man. Abel clearly doesn’t want to be ‘cruel’ — or whatever facsimile of ‘cruel’ he’s capable of — and if he can save Abel from that pain that by enduring for a little longer, then he shouldn’t be selfish.
Vangeance gazes expectantly across the table, even as he feels dread coil tight around his lungs. ]
no subject
Abel offers an apologetic, and grateful smile; his heart aches viciously in his chest for him. ...he really does hurt to look at. ]
It's very lonely. Whatever you've resigned yourself to... it's lonely, isn't it?
[ he wants to understand. it isn't for curiosity's sake - and he knows he isn't owed the answer. but as he said... he can be cruel though his motivations are much different than they used to be. he'll demand what he has no right to. he can be many things for the sake of doing all he can to dispel that look from Vangeance's eyes. ]
Why?
no subject
... it isn’t lonely. [ He answers first, softly, then pauses. Amends. ] Though I suppose it might seem that way.
[ In truth, he’s not sure. Is he lonely? His problem doesn’t feel like one of solitude, not since he was much younger. If anything, he has too much — two people to love and cherish, two causes to believe in, two lights to his life that he wouldn’t mind dying for. And while it’s true that his circumstances are unique, that there isn’t anyone he can consult ... any loneliness he feels is nothing compared to the hurt he’ll be leaving behind.
Vangeance gazes out the window as he mulls over his words. ]
But there are far greater pains than solitude, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure you know of far worse. On a personal level.
[ After all, the somber shadow he’s seen in Abel’s eyes isn’t one that could be born of a pampered, peaceful, happy life. ]
no subject
[ loneliness - and solitude - was a terrible sort of pain. it came in many different forms. it wasn't only the kind associated with pining after company; one could be surrounded by others, be beloved by many, and be incredibly alone. he feels Vangeance is acquainted with that feeling, well.
but it could also the crushing loneliness of being ostracized; the solitude of watching others obtain a happiness you will never know yourself. it's loving someone, and then having to live without them. sometimes, it's standing by their side and knowing there's nothing you can do for them. maybe Vangeance knew one or many of these; it didn't matter which.
they were all terrible and perfectly capable of destroying a man. ]
It was in your eyes. When speaking about the Admin. It was personal, for you.
no subject
In a fashion, yes.
[ He relents easily on this matter. Because he isn’t confident in his ability to hide it — the deep connection he feels to the Administrator’s plight. It carries the same desperate stench as Patry’s pain and rage and grief, which he’s harbored and justified and viscerally lived through for most of his life. Vangeance swallows thickly, then meets Abel’s gaze with a sidelong glance. ]
But I’m capable of separating my feelings from my work. If you’re afraid I’ll kill him for personal reasons ... I wouldn’t blame you for being worried, but I promise you that won’t happen. I simply want to ensure the safety of everyone here.
[ That isn’t the point, is it? Abel isn’t so simple a man that he’d prolong this tortuous conversation just for the Administrator’s physical safety. Vangeance knows that Abel is aiming for something else entirely, but this placid attempt to divert and conclude is his unspoken plea for Abel not to dig any further. ]
Please rest assured.
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[ 'cruel,' he'd warned him. he refuses to give an out. for someone who had been hiding behind masks - figuratively and literally, perhaps - for most of his life, maybe he hadn't come across this before. it was... sad, if true. was there no one who had tried to pull out the man beneath them...?
he leans back in his chair, heaving a quiet sigh. ]
How do you relate?
[ Vangeance had denied the similarity to himself in Admin's plight. had he been deflecting...? no, the guilt had been so real in his eyes when he'd spoken those words. it meant something. then, someone else? a loved one, who held the same grim conviction? maybe...
...he forces the thoughts aside, focusing wholly on the knight with an expectant, but patient, silence. ]
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Why do you ask, Abel?
[ He knows the answer to that. It’s because Abel is a fundamentally good person, sincerely worried for someone who appears to be suffering alone. So as much as it pains him, he can’t leave it at that question alone. Vangeance continues quietly. ]
You’ve said you’re speaking not as a priest, but as an individual. I’ve told you my feelings won’t affect my actions, and I’ve asked you to drop the matter. You’re willing to be ‘cruel.’ So you can’t driven by sympathy alone. Then — are you acting on your past experiences? [ ’Underhanded,’ his conscience hisses in his ear. ’Cowardly.’ And it truly is a cheap move, attempting to turn the matter back on Abel. ] Was there someone else in your past you interrogated in this fashion? I’d be curious to know if it worked.
[ ‘Despicable.’ ]
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there's no outward sign to give the other man inclination as to whether or not his words hit their mark. instead, Abel simply waits in silence, finding his hands loosely clasped around the rosary where its settled in his lap, draped from its long chain. the quiet patience and concern in blue eyes says everything for him.
he can wait. will wait. misdirect all he likes; they both know what it means. ]
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... demanding the trust of others without trusting them in return isn’t cruelty. It’s cowardice. [ He smiles bitterly to himself. For real, this time, not that manufactured look he’s perfected since childhood. Hurt and weary and pathetic. ] I would know it very well.
[ Some respect does vanish, though it’s replaced by sympathy. The relief a wounded and ugly beast feels when spotting one of its ilk. ‘So even a man like you harbors a side like that,’ Vangeance muses at the back of his mind, and he hates himself (even more, even more) for thinking it. His head hurts, joining all the other pains compounding in his nerves, and he closes his eyes. ]
The matter you’re prying at ... it’s connected to the problem the Administrator addressed in his note to me. It’s something I’ve never discussed with anyone. Abel, I’m sure you wouldn’t wish to treat me the same way he has, regardless of how sympathetic you are towards him.
[ Demanding entry into, or simply invading into deep, dark territory which shouldn’t be touched. ]
Please give me your reasons — your true reasons. I feel it’s the least you can offer me first.
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the words were, admittedly, true. it was cowardly. he wasn't wrong. that Vangeance recognized it in himself as well as Abel solidified his suspicions; 'birds of a feather' after all, it seems. the priest finds his smile a tad rueful, and he nudges at his glasses while he watches him - though the look in his eyes is absent.
'something in the Admin's note he not discussed with anyone.' it made that unpleasant little niggle of irritation flare up from somewhere old and buried; some things were not meant to find the tongues of others unbidden. but Admin knew these things, and he freely dispensed disquiet while he spoke so flippantly of them. waved them in front of the eyes of his captives. Vangeance hadn't been spared that displeasure.
but the confidence they discussed between them were different. ones freely offered were different than ones taken. the Magic Knight is right; he is asking for trust with nothing given in reciprocation. 'cruel,' Abel'd claimed, 'cruel for a good cause.' is it still for the cause's sake, or the same sort of cowardly self-preservation he was trying to erode in his new friend? the thought has an uncomfortable flip-flop settling in his stomach.
...he wavers. it's not something he bothers to hide, either - reluctance, and that cowardice they share. no matter how justified he feels his reasons for keeping secrets (--people don't trust monsters, don't reach their hands out them in their time of need; he deserves none of the mercy of a gentle hand returned in kind--), he knows Vangeance won't accept they're there without explanation. all he'll see is a foolish hypocrite asking for everything, greedily, and giving nothing back. even so, even acknowledging that fact, it is... so... impossibly hard to let go.
after the silence had stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time... a grim, muted resignation settles over his face.
Abel lifts the rosary, a heavy and time-worn thing almost too large to fit in the palm of his hand. he settles its weight on the table in front of him and the long, elaborate chain pools beside it. ]
You asked me if I had interrogated anyone else, this way.
[ his hand atop the trinket lets it rest, somewhere in the middle of the table between them. then he draws his hand away and sits back, leaving it where it is. ]
I haven't. But... someone else interrogated me. [ his eyes, fixed on the rosary, are somewhere else - with the woman who wore this with much more grace than Abel does. ] And she taught me how important it is to have someone on your side, even... ...no.
Especially, when you make an enemy of yourself.
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There’s the clatter of the rosary chain on the table just as he’s about to take his leave.
The sound cuts through the silence like a blade, instantly commanding all of his attention; the heavy thump of that cross further nails him into place. The weight of it must be tremendous, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. There’s a palpable gravity to the way Abel sets it down, his hand lingering for a moment too long before pulling away, and when he sees that faraway look in Abel’s eyes, Vangeance immediately knows —
it’s a memento.
Everything else falls into place afterwards as he listens to Abel’s words. Connects them to everything Abel has said so far. Thinks back to that brief glimmer of surprise he’d spotted earlier, and the traces of something more somber he’d caught lurking in the depth of those clear, blue eyes. Vangeance regards Abel quietly afterward; that smile of his has faded, replaced by a look of quiet contemplation, and after a long moment of silence, he speaks plainly. ]
Your strength is admirable.
[ Because Abel ... has also done something heinous, hasn’t he? That’s why he was interrogated. That’s why he’s so adamant that there is no ‘point of no return.’ That’s why he so powerfully believes in extending a merciful hand even to those who’ve done wrong.
It’s the sort of attitude that could be seen as despicable coming from another man. The flailings of a person desperate to save themselves, trying to persuade themselves that their own sins could be absolved. But Vangeance can recognize the pain and reluctance in Abel’s confession, a genuine fear of addressing his own past. Abel believes in mercy, but not for his own sake. The sincerity in his voice hadn’t been anything that could be easily faked. Vangeance believes Abel’s convictions are true, and not just because he wants to believe in them. ]
A lesson like that ... must have been difficult to learn. To truly accept. But having the willingness and ability to deliver it to others afterward ...
[ It would be impossible for him, he’s sure.
Vangeance drops his gaze to that rosary, imagining what kind of person taught Abel that lesson. What kind of person could have imparted such warmth, and given him such endless resilience. What kind of person Abel was so influenced by, then lost. ]
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[ the words are gentle, but firm. he won’t permit any misunderstandings after coming this far. there’s no room for half-truths or placating lies, here, not even for the sake of his facade. it’s cold and ugly, but it’s honest. ]
I was carried by those who walk with me, or I wouldn’t have started walking at all.
[ he hadn’t been brave. he hadn’t soldiered on after he had learned the lessons she had tried to teach him, hadn’t become some wise and benevolent force for good on her behalf. he hadn’t even tried to protect the only family he had left from the consequences of his actions.
he had locked himself away, buried himself like a ghost, and disappeared from the ruins of what he’d destroyed — because Vangeance had been absolutely right.
he was a coward. ]
But there are some things we simply have to do, whether we have the strength or not. I have to fix what I’ve broken, and you... I will pray you haven’t taken that last step and broken it, just yet.
[ his eyes are sharper. holding the quiet edge of someone desperate. he’s searching Vangeance with an undeniable and piercing attentiveness, as if he hoped if he stared hard enough, he could see the answer even if it isn’t given aloud. ]
...You haven’t, have you? There’s still... hope.
[ please tell him, Vangeance, that you haven’t yet crossed that line. he doesn’t think you have, but... maybe, just maybe, you’re terrifyingly close. ]
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Maybe it’s the simple desire to see this man stop hurting.
That painful desire is still rife in his gaze, obvious despite the shadow cast by his mask, and it only doubles when Abel looks to him with clear desperation. ]
... I ...
[ He wants to lie. To say that there’s hope, that he’s learned the lesson Abel is working so hard to impart. But the words catch in his throat like glass shards, choking him at the last second. To lie now, after he’s finally wrung this agonizing truth from Abel, would be unforgivably cruel. Vangeance forces himself to meet the piercing blue of Abel’s gaze even when it feels like his heart is threatening to rip itself asunder. ]
... I don’t know. [ Pathetic. He smiles but it feels difficult, and what he manages is terribly vulnerable and frail. There’s a grim determination in his voice, his words steady despite the dark haze of regret in his eyes. ] That will be decided for me very soon. And I must play my part in it. The moment of judgement.
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Abel can see he's trying.
he's struggling against something. himself, maybe; his nature? maybe even the truth. Abel isn't sure, but his heart hurts for him.
there's already regret, and guilt, and weariness in all of Vangeance's edges. even if he hasn't passed the threshold of no return, he's hovering on the precipice... teetering, dangerously. and the fact he's aware of that fact, that morbid reality... ]
...The moment of judgment.
[ it's echoed almost absently. the weight of those words feels heavy, almost oppressive on his tongue. judgment. ]
Decided for you... [ 'for' him. ] Why...?
[ what have you gotten yourself into, Vangeance...? ]
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He’d thought himself prepared. Back in the Clover Kingdom, he’d spent so many sleepless nights thinking about what he would tell Julius, how he would apologize and explain himself, what his last words might be. But the circumstances now are so different; here, in this strange world, there’s a silent void in his chest and no mentor to look to. He’s spent his entire time here avoiding thinking about the details of what awaits him back in the Kingdom, reducing it to a single objective of ‘I must return.’ How can he explain any of this to Abel? If he even should at all.
His voice catches in his throat before he manages to speak again, steady but distant. ]
Because ... I was unable to choose.
[ His gaze drops to that rosary where it still lies on the table, his hand tense. The desire to stand and leave is almost overwhelming, and it shows in the tense line of his shoulders. ]
So they will make the decision for me. [ Vangeance’s voice lowers to something soft, full of love and longing and pain. ] The two people dearest to me, who can never coexist.
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maybe it was best, this way. talking to someone little more than an acquaintance. detached and far away from his world, his life, everyone he knew and who knew him.
Abel's brow furrows further with a mixture of sympathy, and something else - something a little more unreadable. he's unable to choose between two people he loves and respects... at a cross-roads. ]
What will happen to you, if you let them choose?
[ he won't ask why he cannot choose. it's self-evident. co-existence was a muddy, murky sort of state of being for many - and being caught between the two worlds of loved ones... he is, sadly, entirely sympathetic to that plight. it's a little... ironic, all things considered.
Abel's indecision landed him in the very same place Vangeance's would, he imagined. and that... that thought genuinely terrifies him. ]
What will happen to them...?
[ would he really be able to sit by and watch one destroy the other...? ]
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But the question of what will happen to them, his loved ones ... ]
One of them will be considered righteous.
[ The other will probably die. His beloved mentor, ever gracious and wise and generous, or his dearest friend, who’s known an inhuman level of suffering and deserves so much more. He would give up every last scrap of himself to save them both, and his heart screams at the knowledge that that’s impossible.
But Abel knows that, doesn’t he? Even if it’s not spelled out for him. Maybe he’s witnessed something similar in the past. Vangeance can see the deep sympathy and recognition in Abel’s eyes, and because he’s a coward, he’ll take any excuse not to have to speak of this matter any more. He directs his words towards the rosary still lying on the table: ]
... I’m sorry, but I really should leave. [ There’s a note of weary finality to those quiet words, though Vangeance doesn’t stand without Abel’s acknowledgement this time. Because they’ve reached some sort of tacit understanding — they’re two damaged beasts agreeing to share the stories behind their scars. Abel had spoken, so he feels he can’t leave without upholding his part of the deal to Abel’s satisfaction. He’s tired, though, and he’s reaching the limits of how many ugly emotions he can keep chained down in his chest, that pervasive, sickly feeling starting to reach its apex. ] I’m sure you must also be tired and recovering from recent events.
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he doesn't like this at all.
it wasn't just about the 'fate' he'd resigned himself to. it went beyond that; he would've had to think so little of himself for so long for it to reach this tipping point. he'd stopped seeing himself as someone deserving of a future, to get this far. it was completely at odds with the sympathetic, kind, warm-eyed smiles of earlier... no; that isn't quite right, is it? even then, they had been fringed by sadness. it never truly went away.
his hands mechanically settle in his lap. ]
...I'll believe in what you can't, for now.
[ his future - his sense of self-worth... that he can find a way to avoid that terrible, empty end. ]
I'm with you. So, between the two of us, maybe... maybe, we can...
[ ...can find a way, one day. maybe in this place full of impossibilities, there would be a chance, some... some shot in hell, some one in a million opportunity to open his eyes to something... even just the chance he might realize his life was meaningful, that he... was a good man, beneath it all. that he deserved a chance to live, to protect both halves of his heart held by those he loved. surely, for someone who wanted such a pure, sincere thing... surely, there would be a way. there would... be...
...he wouldn't let him give up, god... damnit. ]
Please-- hold on, until then. Please don't give up.
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— ah. That’s not it, though, is it.
His eyes widen as the realization sets in. Then his shoulders slump just a fraction, buckling under the weight of the emotions that wash through him — a breathtaking wave of gratitude and admiration and guilt. To think that Abel would still be so sympathetic towards a self-professed coward and traitor, so prepared to watch his loved ones kill each other. He really is a terrible bleeding heart, isn’t it. Truly kind and merciful, whatever his past may have been.
The sort of man who shouldn’t have to continue tormenting himself. ]
... I’m very glad you’re here, Abel. [ His smile’s lost that polished quality, and it’s just frank fondness that shines through his exhaustion. ] You said what you possess isn’t strength, but I would know no other word for it.
[ Abel had voiced no further questions, so Vangeance takes it as implicit permission to leave. There’s the quiet thump of his boots against the floor as he stands, but after a moment’s pause, he steps around the table. His movements are gentle and reverent, picking up the rosary with the utmost care, making sure to cup the chain with his other hand to keep it from tangling as he holds it out for Abel to take. ]
I’m sure the person who left this in your care would be very proud of you.
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but...
the priest can’t help but wonder at the inevitability of this confrontation, that little niggle of hope and muted desperation on the other man’s behalf refusing to go unacknowledged. would Vangeance really be able to wash his hands of choice and accept his fate...? let the cards fall where they would? when the time came... would he really be able to watch one of his most precious people kill the other...? this man with a heart capable of love, of being loved by others — by seeing and seeking kindness in others, would he really...
...ah. he’s stolen from his thoughts as he realizes the footsteps he’s heard aren’t those of the Magic Knight readying to take his leave. Vangeance is here, instead — Lilith’s rosary dangling from his fingers. the irony of such a person holding it with reverence, understanding some small measure of its worth... doesn’t escape him.
...
Abel reaches out, unable to stop the smile of weary gratitude from reaching his lips as he takes the precious memento. he hadn’t needed any more reasons to find himself fond of this man, but... here was another. ]
...I look forward to our next cup of tea, William.
[ he wouldn’t blame him for desperately wanting to avoid Abel after this. but he also knew Vangeance was a man of his word, and... eventually, some sense of that duty he held despite it all would bring him back. he’s impossibly kind to everyone except himself, this one. he cares too much for a world he separates himself from by layers of well-placed facade, quick to judge himself and just as quick to forgive others their transgressions. he deserves better than this.
yes, this man...
... ]
Please rest well, until then.
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Vangeance knows, knows that he should politely reject that invitation and never come here again. ]
... of course.
[ But he is, in the end, a selfish coward. That acquiescence comes out soft, his voice low, but not reluctant. Vangeance watches the way Abel holds the rosary so carefully in his hands, like the precious memento it is, and he knows he won’t be able to stay away.
Because Abel is a good person, and he desperately wants to witness that proof of humanity’s worth. This kind man, so determined to save others despite his own old wounds, willing to accept anything and anyone even as he refuses to accept himself ... the kind of person most able to help others, because of, not in spite of his sordid past. All Vangeance has ever wanted is to ensure people’s safety and happiness, and while he’s utterly failed so many people in that respect ... maybe he’ll be permitted to watch Abel attain that goal. Maybe he can allow himself to behold a tiny sliver of that warmth in the name of keeping Abel safe. Maybe he’ll be forgiven for that selfish desire, if only because it’s for a good cause.
His gaze lingers for a moment longer — tinged with unspoken admiration and guilt and devotion — before he finally gives a small nod. ]
Please take care. I’m sure we’ll meet again before long.
[ Vangeance turns away, and he doesn’t look back as he leaves. He doesn’t permit himself that luxury. ]