conchy | IF WE AMASS ENOUGH SHITPOSTS NO ONE CAN READ OUR SHAME

[Sorry Vergilius, your husband can't hear you nagging him, he's gone! Lobelia ends up... elsewhere, which is about what he expected, but it's a familiar locale at the same time. Is this the Sungem's Peak?

At first glance, it appears as if he's returned to where he was prior to death, but the appearance of several doors dotting the island and the lack of any other people is enough to make it clear that this is someplace else entirely.

Curious, Lobelia does some wandering around to make some observations before even touching those doors. If Vergilius' old legs can get him over here any time soon, maybe they can try opening one of them together?]

....Ugh.

[Ugh.]

Now this is going to make me look like the idiot for not taking your hand.

[UGH!]

....I hate that wizard.

[UGH]

[okay but he's finally heaving a sigh and stepping through - he is disoriented for a moment, but straightens himself, blinking.]

[there's his DAMN HUSBAND. DIVORCE IS NOT REAL]

Are we...back? No...these doors...

How good of you to join me!

[Does Lobelia sound... less enthusiastic than usual? Don't worry about it! He's just thinking real hard about these doors, his attention on Vergilius fleeting as he studies the one before him. Wow, ignoring his wife for a door, how's that feel.]

It seems the "île" has taken to replacing the people with these curious doors. Hm! I wonder what it is Monsieur Merlin hopes to accomplish with such an unimpressive parlor trick.

[These doors are giving off the same vibes that The Tower's card did, so he's willing to imagine they'll be transported to yet another plane of existence the moment they step through one.]

Replacing people with doors.

[What will they think of next. Watch out Pixar!!]

[Also if he notices Lobelia focusing on doors over him, he doesn't say anything about it, only glancing over them with a frown. Maybe this is more like that corridor than he expected, actually.]

They're likely spaces within spaces...or paths to other places. I've run into something like it before. Not to say it was replacing people, though.

[A beat, placing his hand on one.]

...Want to open one up?

[sure, place your hand on the door but not on him, smh

Vergilius has arrived at the same conclusion as Lobelia has, but he spares him the fanfare and applause in favor of turning the nob and easing the door open inch by inch. As expected, what awaits them is veiled in a darkness that's eager to consume them both, but that isn't what has Lobelia apprehensive— it's what he hears from deep within that space, a voice so distant but so familiar that he can feel it resonate in his heart.

Everyone has the right to be happy— everyone and anyone. That means you too, Lobelia...

Just as slowly, Lobelia closes the door, but he hasn't yet let go of the knob.]

I don't see any practical reason to explore these spaces. Our time would be better spent looking for the exit and giving Monsieur Merlin a piece of our minds. Shall we?

[yeah that's right he's going to cheat on you with this sexy sexy piece of wood mmmmm door daddy]

[Okay, no. That sudden creak of the door, that appealing void inside...and then Lobelia shutting it so quickly makes him look over, surprised.]

...Hey. [What the hell.] Why are you changing your tune so suddenly? Did you see something?

[watch out for splinters, casanova

There's no excusing his behavior in any way that Vergilius will accept as the unquestionable truth, so he'll have to answer him honestly, if a bit curtly. Lobelia's hand remains idle on the knob, as if protecting it from being opened a second time.]

Monsieur Merlin made it clear that he benefits from the bonds forged between others. By showing others our memories, I believe he intends to do just that, but it won't work. In a case like ours, it's inutile.

[Good enough? He's certain Vergilius is no more inclined to have his memories explored than Lobelia is, not that the latter wouldn't be inclined to explore those on his own if he could get away with it.]

So your memory is there.

[It's as easy as anything to infer. He glances between Lobelia and that hand still on the door knob. If what he says is true, that means his memories are there too, and that's something that makes his eyes flicker, displeased.]

[But the matter here is the man's memories, of course. Why is he hesitating now? The Lobelia of the living would've been happy to shove him into some memory involving his horrific murders, no doubt.]

...What are you hiding? If it truly is inutile then wouldn't you assume I would already know and wouldn't care? What else is there?

[The Lobelia of the living had no qualms with being judged for the past he very much did not regret, but that's a funny thing, isn't it? Regret. He doesn't know how to answer Vergilius' question because he doesn't understand what has him so apprehensive, but it might just be regret, the feeling Vergilius relentlessly hammered into him like a metal nail.

Regret. Does he regret his past? Does he regret what happened to his parents? Maybe, maybe. What he may regret more is Vergilius' reaction to the unchanging truth of his past, but it's as he says: why would he care? Why should he care? Will he ever care?

With that thought in mind, Lobelia laughs at his own hesitation and thrusts the door wide open. He won't insist that Vergilius take his hand, nor will he so much as offer it to him before stepping inside, the darkness consuming him.]

[And without answering his question, Lobelia steps in, again leaving him behind.]

[Vergilius stands for a long moment. There's nowhere else to go. This time Lobelia is acting as guide, down a path that only he seems to know.]

[He lets out a long breath, staring into the darkness...before he steps forward into it, eyes ablaze, as if to illuminate it.]

[He calls his guide's name.]

Lobelia.

[In this space, Lobelia is nowhere to be seen, having disappeared entirely, but Vergilius isn't left alone in the dark for long. The world around him illuminates to reveal a quaint home set on an island with a beautiful inland sea. Crouched to meet him at eye level are a man and a woman, their eyes wrinkled with love and admiration, their touch on his skin just as warm and effusive.

"Everyone has the right to be happy— everyone and anyone. That means you too, Lobelia..." The woman speaks openly with nothing but love for her child coming through clearly in every word.

"Use that talent of yours, and you’re guaranteed to be happy! You’re a genius, son, and you’re certain to succeed! Live a life of bliss, Lobelia!"

The man is no less proud of the child before him. Lobelia was very, very loved, and yet Vergilius will feel nothing — nothing at all — upon receiving all that loving admiration and praise. He'll feel what emptiness truly feels like, every emotion superficial save for the vaguest frustration over wondering what happiness truly is. What does it feel like? What does it look like? How do I find it? Over and over again, those thoughts will plague Vergilius' mind. There's the distinct feeling somewhere in the back of his mind that he may never know.]

...

[What...is this?]

[For a moment, briefly, he thinks he's back with that voice, but when the scenery opens, he knows its not the case. He's smaller now. Young. Two people lavishing him attention. And that name...]

[Ah.]

His parents...

[He at first attributes to his lack of care for this as something from himself, as this is a scenario he doesn't belong to. But the more it goes on, there's frustration here. Why isn't he...feeling anything? This dullness....]

[He frowns.]

Is this...him?

[That empty void where his feelings should be is nothing pleasant, feeling less like the weight of emotion has been taken off his shoulders and more like an insatiable, gnawing hunger. That feeling never abates, only growing stronger with time.

The scene shifts and he's walking along the beach with his parents. He stands a little taller now, able to glean the happiness from his parents' faces that much more clearly, but that empty feeling remains. Happiness, happiness, happiness. If he has a right to it just as much as everyone else, why can't he feel it? Why can't he understand it? He understood the principles of magic from an early age, yet something so intrinsic as happiness continues to elude him.

He isn't far into his walk when his heel plants on something in the sand. It's the sound that hits him first, a loud crunch that echoes endlessly in his ears. The sound of a conch shell breaking, shattering, and the feeling that wells up within him as a result is like nothing he's ever felt before.

This sensation… This sound! Aaah, this feeling... It fills my heart... Ah, yes, it's the noise of something breaking! This sound is happiness! If a lifeless scrap on the beach can do all this for me, then how much more—

It's something, and that something is so very overwhelming. Could it be happiness? No, no, but it's the path to happiness, surely, that path made clear to Lobelia now. From this point on, there was no going back.

His parents immediately turned to him with concern, and with a friendly smile, he snapped his fingers.

It only took an instant. Lobelia used audiomancy to make his father's body burst open. The son magically recorded the resulting sound.

Ah, Papa, Papa! What a happy sound you make! Très bien!

Unable to comprehend the sight before her eyes, Lobelia’s mother screamed excruciatingly. Lobelia, meanwhile, flashed a smile.

Maman... What sort of sound would you make?

Lobelia felt profound gratitude when in the sound of destruction he discovered happiness— an emotion his parents had long taught to value. After some deliberation, the boy decided that the best way to repay his parents was to embody their lesson.

Lobelia destroyed his father instantaneously but not his mother. Starting at the tips and proceeding inward, he crushed the flesh and bones of her four limbs little by little. Lobelia grinned ecstatically and carefully recorded the sound.

With the two mutilated corpses before him, the gleeful Lobelia played the sounds on a loop.

Très bien! I feel alive from the bottom of my heart! Merci je t'aime! Papa, Maman! I—heh-ahahaha—I’m happy!

That was the first of many days on which Lobelia would destroy other people. It made him — he said — happy. Vergilius, however, knows the truth. When that memory ends, he's left standing in the vacuous black void with Lobelia, his expression inscrutable beneath the hood of his robe. What does he have to say for himself? Nothing, apparently, his silence all but deafening. It's nothing Vergilius doesn't already know, but now he's seen it with his own eyes— felt it, too.]

[Ah.]

[Are you happy?]

["I'm happy! I feel alive from the bottom of my heart!]

[He watches as the father dies. He watches as the mother dies. All for want of a broken shell. All for want of happiness.]

[He feels the sudden instant rise of bile. It isn't the gore that does it. It isn't murdering someone like this. God knows he's killed people in worse, more excruciating ways.]

[It isn't even because of how senseless it is...or perhaps it makes sense, to Lobelia's diseased mind? No. Not that.]

[To destroy something that once gave you so much happiness...]

[He wants to throw up, something about it so poisonous to his core, like breathing in the spores of something vile, inhuman. Vergilius stands, staring at the scenery as it fades away, but he can't forget what he saw so easily.]

[.......]

[He finally meets Lobelia's eyes. His voice comes, like a rasp.]

....How do you feel about it now?

[It's only out of surprise that Lobelia meets Vergilius' gaze. He expected an outward display of anger, disgust, and while he knows Vergilius hasn't been left unaffected, he had expected a strong response. Violence, maybe another death, cold words to remind him of his greatest mistake in life, lest he ever forget it.

There's some irony in it, really. Only in learning what happiness truly is has Lobelia realized that everything that came before it was nothing close. No matter how far his violence escalated, those moments of "happiness" were always fleeting. More importantly...

I'm not fulfilled yet... No matter whose sounds I listen to, I'm not fulfilled at all. The only two who could make me happy... were Papa and Maman.

On that day, Lobelia made a dire mistake. He understands what happiness is well enough to know he robbed himself and his parents of that very thing, and now? Well, he understands his hesitation from before. Understands what kept his hand on the knob in an effort to keep this door from ever being opened.]

...Regret. I miss them every day— all the more now that I can no longer hear them.

And you did it with your own hands.

[You did it. You beget your own sin.]

[He steps closer now. Of course, he has those urges. To rip off Lobelia's head. To denounce him as an animal, a creature, a void. He's done harm to this man before, he could do so easily again, even if he knows he'll simply come back. A monster must be culled.]

[So easy. So very easy.]

[I've destroyed too much.]

[Instead, he reaches out slowly, lets his fingers curl around the other's rob in a tight, white-knuckled grip. His eyes are like vicious lighthouses at the end of the ocean, ready to make sure ships dash themselves into a cliff.]

Death would be too good for you, you know.

[He would not begrudge Vergilius the opportunity to rip his head off, denounce him as an animal, a creature, a void... and he deserves that much, doesn't he? Just as he is undeserving of a happy ending after all the pain he's caused in his life, he deserves to suffer every misfortune he's brought upon others. With that thought in mind, Lobelia hollowly laughs.]

I experienced Papa and Maman's deaths with my own body, my own soul, and countless others... but even a thousand deaths would not be atonement enough. They cannot be brought back.

[Is that why you're denying me yet another death? If it's Vergilius' aim to be cruel, Lobelia certainly knows he's deserving of cruelty, yet even that may be too good for him.]

But you've said as much before, Vergilius. If you were hoping for a different answer, I'm afraid I can't provide you one.

Of course they can't.

[No amount of repentance can, can it? Even in his own journey to bring a certain someone back, he still thinks that might be a distant light of hope, a star, that may not be realized.]

[He still keeps holding Lobelia. His hand shakes a little.]

I know. [I know.] Whatever punishment I can give you will never be on the same level as what you will give yourself.

[...]

I told you. Both of us...unto hell.

[He'll spend the rest of his existence regretting his own folly. That isn't "good enough," won't bring back the lives he's stolen away, but it's as fitting a punishment as he will receive for a life spent destroying others.

This is what he deserves, but what of Vergilius? Lobelia feels that tremble in his hand before he sees it, considers leaving it wrapped into the fabric of his robes to shake and shiver. He could refuse him his touch again, and yet Lobelia doesn't.

Both of us, unto hell.

There's no going back the way they came. With nowhere to go but forward into the hells of their own design, Lobelia's hands come up to curl around Vergilius' fist. That fist is warm, so unrelentingly warm, even at a time like this. Death is too good for a person like him, but so too is Vergilius.]

Then let us continue our descent together, mon âme soeur. Show me the past that shaped you into the monster you are today.

[Heavens know Vergilius wasn't born this way. Not as Lobelia was.]

...

[A bit of reluctance creeps in - not because, like Lobelia, he's worried about what the other might think. If this is some kind of hell which relives their worst moments, then he doesn't want to go through it. He already relives them in his own mind and soul on a regular basis.]

[He lets out a short exhale of breath, shuddering, his fingers releasing one by one, but still held firm by Lobelia. This man, his own personal trap.]

[And yet he doesn't pull away entirely.]

[His gaze moves up and away into the void.]

Nothing shaped me. That's how I happened to be.

[It wasn't that long ago that he would have charged on ahead, heedless of Vergilius' reluctance, and delighted in his past steeped in tragedy. Vergilius can draw his own conclusions as to why Lobelia neither rushes ahead nor leaves his side, dutifully cradling that trembling hand.

Rooted to the spot, he won't move forward so long as his guide remains still, but alas, it doesn't seem as if the choice here is theirs to make. Lowering their joined hands, Lobelia closes his eyes, listens to the silence that surrounds them. If he had to hazard a guess, whatever memory awaits them next neither needs them to move forward into it or desire to have it play out before them. By his estimation, he'll see Vergilius' memories whether he wants them to be seen or not. Sorry, wifey.]

Absurdité. We're alike in just as many ways as we aren't, Vergilius. I was born this way, but you were made.

[And that's the truth of the matter. At his core, Vergilius is a good person— at the very least, he's capable of being one. Lobelia never stood a chance.]

[He doesn't feel like he was made. As much as he has tried to keep his head above water, he feels he like he was always destined to drown.]

[But still he persists, still he moves on. Why...? Why.......?]

[For others. For her. Perhaps for Lobelia, too, even if they are going towards a place no good soul should return from. Ah, dutiful Lobelia. At his side, ready to brave the horrors with him.]

[He grunts, his lips pulled back in a mild grimace, before he moves to turn towards the vast void in front of them. His hand is starting to pull away, though his palm is open.]

....I want this to be over with.

Allons-y ensemble. The sooner we do, the sooner we can depart.

[Lobelia doesn't let go of that hand. There's no place to go but forward, nowhere to go but further into the void, and Lobelia won't leave Vergilius to brave it on his own. As he trudges forward, so too does Lobelia, time and space warping around them to reveal Vergilius' memory to them both.]

Alright.

[And so, the guide moves to pull them along. The area moves, and shifts, and Lobelia becomes someone different.]

[As your eyes open, you can clearly see the streets you're walking down are decorated, festive, with a bustling and happy crowd. The bright, cheerful lights, the vivid green of pine, the stars, the ornaments.]

[It's Christmas.]

[There's a sack of goodies slung on your shoulders, a merry red hat perched on your head - gifts of your Office members, who had done their best to contribute to a good cause. It's all for the children, of course. Goodies, candies, anything a young eye and bright heart would enjoy.]

[Even with the sword harnessed to your back, it doesn't feel like this is a day for anything dark. Christmas is a day of light, and merriment.]

[Soon you'll exit to a familiar road, and make it to the orphanage. Your weary heart feels light.]

[You can't wait to see their smiling faces.]

[...Ah. This is a much more pleasant memory than his, isn't it? At least it seems that way, the festive atmosphere of the season is familiar to Lobelia as well. Was Vergilius a good enough boy to have had the honor of meeting with Santa? No... it seems he's playing the role of santa this time. With much curiosity, Lobelia eagerly awaits what comes next. Given whose memory this is, he doesn't expect it to remain warm and pleasant for long.]

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cw gore, c/ps half of this

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FEAR