IF WE AMASS ENOUGH SHITPOSTS NO ONE CAN READ OUR SHAME

[conchy]

Comments

[immortalpoet]

[meanwhile vergilius is like WHY CAN'T YOU BE MORE LIKE THE FRENCH MAN I KNOW, MISTER MEURSAULT. HE DOESN'T SAY MUCH. BE LIKE HIM]

[But he heaves a long sigh at this, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.]

I heard it, alright. I don't want to talk with you.

[BLUNT.]

[conchy]

[Silent types are the absolute worst, but they tend to be the types that scream the loudest when death is imminent. Would Vergilius be the same, he wonders?]

Ah, so you blocked me on purpose! That's uncalled for, Vergilius. What have I done to earn your ire?

[immortalpoet]

You're a freak.

[CONTINUES TO BE BLUNT.]

Not that I don't meet freaks on the daily, but I don't have patience for them.

[conchy]

How blunt! Heh-ahaha!

[Lobelia isn't the least bit offended. He knows what he is.]

If you're so sorely lacking in patience, why don't you do something about it? On this island, you have the opportunité parfaite.

[immortalpoet]

[You can actually practically hear the little smirk in his voice.]

Because I don't like giving people what they want. Call me a terrible person that way.

[conchy]

Oh?

[There's silence on Lobelia's end followed by another bout of laughter. Nearby, other conches ring with the same childlike mirth.]

Who knew we'd have so much in common? We're one in the same, Vergilius. You want peace, but I refuse to grant it to you! Haha!

[immortalpoet]

Mm.

[Now he's sounding gloomy and irritated again, which is just his baseline.]

Anyways, are you done? I have things to do.

[conchy]

Not quite! If you'll humor me a little, I might consider leaving you alone.

[That's a pretty irresistible offer, isn't it? Lobelia just has a few questions he'd like to ask. Nothing much!]

[immortalpoet]

How much is "humoring me a little", exactly.

[Very dubious....]

[conchy]

Un peu! I'd like to ask you a couple questions. We're stuck here together, so why not get acquainted?

[immortalpoet]

No getting acquainted. You ask me a few questions, I answer them, I never see your pitiful excuse for a face ever again. Or your voice. Especially your voice.

[conchy]

Fine, fine. I'll agree to your terms if you answer me honestly.

[And he'll get the big one out of the way first.]

Why are you so unhappy?

[immortalpoet]

I have a lot of things to be unhappy about. Talking to you is at the top of the list.

[YOU THINK HE WILL BE EMOTIONALLY VULNERABLE?? HE IS ALLERGIC]

[conchy]

Heheh-hahaha! Don't sound so misérable, Vergilius!

[One man's misery is another man's kink. There truly is no winning with Lobelia.]

Allow me to clarify. Are you unhappy because you fear for your life? Mm, no... something tells me this little charade our lovely hosts have involved us in only makes you angrier.

[immortalpoet]

No, I don't fear for my life.

[He sounds sure about that, like it's blatant fact.]

I don't like being made to be a part of someone else's game.

[conchy]

But the only way to escape from it, it seems, is to play along... Hahaha!

[In sharp contrast to Vergilius, Lobelia sounds delighted.]

What will you do, Vergilius? How much does preserving your life mean to you?

[immortalpoet]

Mm.

[You can almost hear the glower.]

I'll do what I can to get out of here. That's all.

[conchy]

So you'll kill if you must...?

[You can tell him, Vergie. There's no need to be shy.]

[immortalpoet]

...

[A long pause. He could've given a blunt answer, but once again, he doesn't like giving people what they want.]

What do you think, Lobelia?

[conchy]

What do I think...?

[Lobelia hums on the other end of the line, giving his question some genuine thought.]

I suspect a man so unfamiliar with the concept of happiness like you would kill not because it pleases him, but because something else wills you to. Am I correcte?

[immortalpoet]

What are you, some psychologist?

[A scoff. Obviously not answering the question.]

The place where I come from is awash with blood on a regular basis. If you were a Fixer and you didn't kill, that would be almost an abnormality in and of it itself.

[conchy]

[Hey! He's seen his fair share of brains!! There's no need to scoff. Lobelia's laughter echoes from the depths of the conch.]

Ah, so I was correct in suspecting we had something in common! Still, how curious that one who breaks others would be granted the title of "Fixer".

[immortalpoet]

[It IS ironic. It's irony he doesn't like! But here we are!]

Welcome to my world. Maybe I should bring you there. You can rub one out before a pack of Sweepers comes to take you out with the rest of the trash.

[conchy]

Oh dear! No need to be so brut, Vergilius. You've gotten your point across just fine.

[What a vulgar man!!! Lobelia can't relate.]

You seem well-matched with your vocation, and yet you're so unhappy! What an unfortunate predicament you've found yourself in...

[immortalpoet]

...

[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?