[His hand clenches over the shell, almost unconsciously - a crack moves over it from the strain, but he doesn't go all the way. An unfortunate predicament...]
[Ah! He can hear it cracking!! Lobelia can't resist a brief, delighted laugh... but hey, at least he's attempting to hold it together. That's more than he'll do for most.]
You've yet to answer my most pressing question, but it seems you're not feeling inclined to at the moment! Peut-รชtre you'll feel better in the morning? More... amicable?
I'm like a weapon. A weapon feels nothing. I kill if it gets me to where I need to go. [His voice is quieter.] It all comes down to the flow. Nothing more, nothing less. The hells and high waters one goes through. The flow cannot be stopped.
[Nothing more than a weapon, eh? That certainly doesn't apply to Lobelia himself, but to a certain something in his possession. He knows the feeling through their connection, if nothing else.]
But you speak as if you have no choice but to go along with the flow. Even a weapon has a choixโ the right to be happy. You are not beyond redemption!
[So very final and so very sad... It's not the conclusion he was hoping Vergilius would come to, but the one he expected. Still, there isn't an ounce of judgment in Lobelia's voice, nor any pity.]
Then why go on living? If you truly see no value in yourself, what reason do you have to persist? Don't tell me it's for the sake of others.
My friend, I fear you may already be in l'enfer. You're living it.
[Going through each day bound in shackles, suffering through the tumult of day to day life as a weapon meant for nothing but destruction... If only Vergilius could see the value in that, then he might just know happiness as Lobelia does.]
That's why you would be better served casting off your shackles and living as a free man while you still draw breath. Know paix in this life until you are nothing more than a withered husk! You are alive, so why do you refuse to live?
I see... So you caught a glimpse of salvation and looked the other way. In that regard, we're contraires.
[Vergilius must've never believed himself worthy of happiness, unlike Lobelia who has believed himself more worthy of it than anyone else. Still, an ill feeling settles in his heart, but it's brief and fleetingโ something like jealousy, he supposes, not paying it much mind.]
[Really now, if delusion can lead to true happiness, is that not enough? Perhaps Vergilus' standards are simply unrealistic.]
I am just as hellbound as you, but while I still draw breath, I'm going to live my life to the fullest. "Anyone and everyone has the right to be happy." I simply try to abide by my credo.
[But there's something other than the usual childish mirth in Lobelia's voice, something like frustration. Just the barest hint of it.]
You wouldn't know anyway, would you? The difference between happiness and delusion, that is.
[That would take an understanding of what happiness truly is. Lobelia wants to believe Vergilius is just as unable to understand the true nature of happiness as himself.]
I know what happiness is. I had it in my hands. Like a jewel.
[And now there's something almost a little...smug, in a sense. Not arrogance, but something like one would expect of a self-assured guide who knows the way in a dark forest.]
[What folly you are.]
Oh shade of a man, will you scrabble at me for a mere taste of it?
[Like a jewel, he says. Like something real, tangible, in all the ways Lobelia has never known happiness to be. He'd liken his happiness more to a migratory bird, beautiful and fleeting, but nothing so grand and solid as a shining jewel.
If he didn't know any better, he'd say Vergilius was taunting him... but Vergilius wouldn't do that, would he? No, just this once, he'll be given the benefit of the doubt. Lobelia laughs off his insult. What does this man know that he doesn't?]
There's a saying where I come from: On reconnaรฎt le bonheur au bruit qu'il fait en claquant la porte. In other words, you don't know happiness until you've lost it. Therefore, shouldn't I pity you?
[That attitude doesn't drain, because it almost feels like he's gotten a foot up on something - like a knight, using a foot to trod on the tail of a dragon. There's something relaxed in his words, somehow, even as exhausted as they are.]
I was going to ask you the same thing. Shouldn't I pity you?
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[His hand clenches over the shell, almost unconsciously - a crack moves over it from the strain, but he doesn't go all the way. An unfortunate predicament...]
Are we done?
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[What happened to this being their last conversation? Don't worry about it.]
I'll give you some time to se dรฉtendre and enjoy your vacation before I ask you my second question.
[HE'S ALREADY ASKED MORE THAN """A COUPLE,"""]
Try not to fret over the miserable existence waiting for you back home!
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[Another crack forms over the shell.]
Get it all done now. I don't want to deal with you.
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You've yet to answer my most pressing question, but it seems you're not feeling inclined to at the moment! Peut-รชtre you'll feel better in the morning? More... amicable?
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[Practically a command, not an answer.]
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[And who knows what Lobelia's measure for honesty is?]
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[A long pause.]
I'm like a weapon. A weapon feels nothing. I kill if it gets me to where I need to go. [His voice is quieter.] It all comes down to the flow. Nothing more, nothing less. The hells and high waters one goes through. The flow cannot be stopped.
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[Nothing more than a weapon, eh? That certainly doesn't apply to Lobelia himself, but to a certain something in his possession. He knows the feeling through their connection, if nothing else.]
But you speak as if you have no choice but to go along with the flow. Even a weapon has a choixโ the right to be happy. You are not beyond redemption!
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[The quietest his voice has been, but there's something simmering behind it. Like the heightened rush of blood.]
I'm not.
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You're not what, Vergilius?
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[It feels like a finality of a statement. Like as much as fact as two plus two always equaling four.]
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Then why go on living? If you truly see no value in yourself, what reason do you have to persist? Don't tell me it's for the sake of others.
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[As simple as that.]
Dots become lines. Lines lead to possibility.
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[Going through each day bound in shackles, suffering through the tumult of day to day life as a weapon meant for nothing but destruction... If only Vergilius could see the value in that, then he might just know happiness as Lobelia does.]
That's why you would be better served casting off your shackles and living as a free man while you still draw breath. Know paix in this life until you are nothing more than a withered husk! You are alive, so why do you refuse to live?
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[His voice is gruff as he speaks, as if the idea of that scene leaves a bad taste on his mouth.]
I admit, I saw her point. It was tempting. But I decided that my path would never go that way. So I left it behind.
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[Vergilius must've never believed himself worthy of happiness, unlike Lobelia who has believed himself more worthy of it than anyone else. Still, an ill feeling settles in his heart, but it's brief and fleetingโ something like jealousy, he supposes, not paying it much mind.]
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[He sounds firm in that. He knows what that would've brought him.]
You think you'll get salvation, Lobelia?
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[Really now, if delusion can lead to true happiness, is that not enough? Perhaps Vergilus' standards are simply unrealistic.]
I am just as hellbound as you, but while I still draw breath, I'm going to live my life to the fullest. "Anyone and everyone has the right to be happy." I simply try to abide by my credo.
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[It doesn't sound like happiness.]
Sounds like delusion to me.
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[But there's something other than the usual childish mirth in Lobelia's voice, something like frustration. Just the barest hint of it.]
You wouldn't know anyway, would you? The difference between happiness and delusion, that is.
[That would take an understanding of what happiness truly is. Lobelia wants to believe Vergilius is just as unable to understand the true nature of happiness as himself.]
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[And now there's something almost a little...smug, in a sense. Not arrogance, but something like one would expect of a self-assured guide who knows the way in a dark forest.]
[What folly you are.]
Oh shade of a man, will you scrabble at me for a mere taste of it?
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If he didn't know any better, he'd say Vergilius was taunting him... but Vergilius wouldn't do that, would he? No, just this once, he'll be given the benefit of the doubt. Lobelia laughs off his insult. What does this man know that he doesn't?]
There's a saying where I come from: On reconnaรฎt le bonheur au bruit qu'il fait en claquant la porte. In other words, you don't know happiness until you've lost it. Therefore, shouldn't I pity you?
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[That attitude doesn't drain, because it almost feels like he's gotten a foot up on something - like a knight, using a foot to trod on the tail of a dragon. There's something relaxed in his words, somehow, even as exhausted as they are.]
I was going to ask you the same thing. Shouldn't I pity you?
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