citylogs | denied the light [OPEN]

[...]

[He, at first, doesn't know what to say. His eyes widen, but there's nothing in his stare to assume anger, or fear, or even shock. Honestly, he's more confused than anything. After all, he still remembers what that cat had said.]

["In exchange for giving himself to me, I would tell him what he wanted to know. I am a fair merchant. What really happened the night dear ol' daddy-in-law and his lovely wife died. Why they died. The burning question that's consumed him."]

[If he killed her, then...why would he have given himself to that thing in the first place for answers...? Of course, Daan is obviously upset. Regretful. He highly doubts he's lying, here.]

Forgive me if I'm mistaken, but...I thought...she was already dead, Daan.

[Why? Why isn't Vergilius looking at him in disgust? Maybe it's the confusion, because that is understandable. The circumstances are confusing. Even he doesn't completely get it.]

She was.

When I returned from war, I found her corpse. Then... somehow, she was there. She was in Prehevil. She was alive. I don't know how, because it wasn't me. Not for lack of trying...

Something else brought her back. I have... theories, but I don't know. I really don't know. But that doesn't take away the fact that I killed her.

["Hate me. I deserve it. It's the only thing I deserve."]

[........Hate him?]

[He glances up at the umbrella, then back at Daan. The man, in a storm of turmoil, regret and grief dripping off of him like a sickening cloud.]

[Even he, as stalwart as he tries to be, feels an echoing pang in his chest. A sharp feeling, like a burning sword into a hungry, innocent mouth.]

Why would I hate you when I...

[He starts, stops. And as if to pick up what he just dropped, his voice whispers from above.]

[The blood loss, stopped by the cauterization, doesn't lead to its death. Instead, it slumps down and cowers, yet it never stops crawling. So it can reach me. Its cries echo through the room, and the lumps of flesh writhe senselessly. A warm, raw feeling travels down my fingertips..]

[He jolts, a little surprised, but trying to focus on Daan, instead.]

Maybe...that was...something else using your wife for its own ends. [...] That wasn't your wife anymore.

[...He closes his eyes.]

I couldn't hate you for that, Daan.

[The sudden whispering from the above does get his attention, and he's genuinely confused for a moment. Was it something else that happened with Vergilius? He wants to ask, but...

No, he has to make it clear. It wasn't just her body. It was her. It was, in some capacity.]

I don't know. I think she recognized me... the baron sure did.

["He looked at me. He knew me."]

It... has something to do with a god I don't know. The sigil was one I didn't recognize, but I saw it again in Prehevil. The Sulfur God. I don't know anything else...

["That's not true. I knew the baron was using me. To find out more to feed his obsession. And what about her? Did she even love me? Was I just a pawn this whole time?"]

What even was I, this whole time?

["Filth. Plaything. Pet. Degenerate. I never fit in anywhere. Trade in another mask for another and another."]

[The more Daan talks, the more it feels like his own heart sinks into a sort of pitiful sense of sincere helplessness. A plaything of gods. He lost his life. He lost the one he loved. And then she came back in some other form, as if to torment him anew. A soul lost in the wretched wasteland of Inferno.]

[He can't handle it, anymore.]

[Here is another one to burn the world for.]

[He reaches out, encircles his arms around the man, and holds him as if he can't bear the world to try to rip him apart like it has before.]

[For a moment, Daan goes still, nothing but confusion in his mind and heart. Why was Vergilius holding him? Why was he trying to comfort him instead of looking at him in disgust?

"Why?"

There's a tremor that passes through him and he hesitantly leans against the other man. The last time he can remember being held was by Tsuruno, but... beyond that, he can't recall a lot of genuine comfort in his life.]

I don't... understand.

["Why don't you hate me?"]

How could I hate you?

[Even when a certain someone, in his grief, had made the streets flood with gore and flesh and blood from an endless rampage, he simply looked at him with the hope that one day, he would find peace.]

[Daan deserves peace, too, no matter what he's done, no matter what he will do. The flowers speak the words he can't.]

[I'm the worst one of all. I'll sink into the well of my karma alone. My sins outnumber yours by the thousands. The millions.]

[You have suffered too long. You don't deserve it.]

[A quiet, intimate voice, like whispering to the darkness in a cold and empty room. Vergilius continues to hold him.]

[It feels almost impossible to process, that he could be met with compassion after having it denied for so long. Daan closes his eye and he stiffly raises his arms to hold onto Vergilius.

"If you don't hate me, I don't know what to do."

Then all that's left is yearning and aching in his heart.]

...You had to do something similar. Didn't you?

...Yes.

[He never told anyone. Not a single soul. The only two who witnessed it are dead and shattered.]

[This is for Daan, and Daan alone.]

[He wishes to speak before this damn umbrella does.]

Children, used in experiments. Turned into monsters. [His voice cracks - impressive, for something already broken.] I knew them. I killed one. Only realized after it was done.

[Fingers curl slightly into Vergilius' jacket, and his eye closes. Just children... experimented on. Killed. It's not the first time he's heard of it, but he can only imagine how much that kind of guilt that weighs on Vergilius.]

I'm sorry.

[And he means it. Killing the moonscorched that used to be children in the orphanage was already heartbreaking, but Daan could disassociate enough because he didn't know them. It didn't mean it didn't hurt, that it wasn't terrible, but there was that. And it was enough.

Not in the case of Vergilius, though.]

...Wish you didn't have to relate to this feeling.

["If I could spare you, I would."]

...

[Funny. The words from the umbrella up ahead...]

[Those should be my words.]

...What's done is done. This flow of mine can't be stopped. I can only move forward.

[His hand grasps the back of Daan's shirt, a haggard sigh escaping his throat.]

I'm sorry, Daan. For what you went through.

[Slowly, Daan rests his head onto Vergilius' shoulder, letting himself settle into the warmth. Selfish, it's selfish, he shouldn't be doing this, but he leans into it. It's nice, actually.]

...You too, you know.

["I promised not to give up. So I won't. We'll both keep going."]

I would've... I don't know. I wouldn't have blamed you if you judged me. Guess a part of me hoped you would, as I judged myself.

We are the ones who judge ourselves the most. Besides, I couldn't.

[He'll repeat that as many times as it takes.]

[When was the last time he ever had someone in his arms like this? The head against his shoulder feels warm and overwhelming at the same time.]

I'd be a pot calling a kettle black.

I guess that's fair.

["I've never been known before."]

...But you know. I... couldn't hate you, either. For what it's worth.

["I would know you too, if you'd let me. Even at our worst, nails in the grime, blood on our hands, whatever you'd give me."]

[The voice from the umbrella above makes his eyelids flutter, gaze faltering a bit.]

[My worst would destroy you.]

[Save yourself from me.]

[As if he is a bomb waiting to go off.]

That's a testament to your good heart.

Whatever happened to me being a menace.

[The levity doesn't quite reach his voice, but there is an effort. But he doesn't know how to digest it, hearing that he has a good heart. It's always felt wrong, but he knows those aren't light words from Vergilius either.

"I'm where I want to be."]

Just when I thought I could handle whatever else this damned place was gonna throw at me, huh. ...I was gonna tell you, eventually. But... I don't know. Kind of hard to just drop that information in the middle of a conversation.

You can be both. A menace with a good heart.

[His voice comes, as if reciting a poem. A heart that some men would burn the world down for, to make anew.]

[And then something less dramatic, more distantly concerned.]

[Don't put yourself down in the pit, here.]

[He shifts his head, and it lightly touches the other's leaning against him.]

Mm. This place has a way to reveal our soft underbellies. I wouldn't blame you if you never said anything.

I'll just have to believe you.

[Ah. Well.

That good heart in Daan's chest beats harder, heavy and swelling with emotions. He knows the feeling too well, and he tries to cram it down, not now not now. How does he take that? To know that someone-- that Vergilius would do that.

The light contact earns a soft breath and Daan closes his eye.]

Well. I was going to anyway, eventually...

["I was afraid. Maybe I still am. Not of you, though. Never of you."]

...I tried to kill you, once.

[He replies directly to the voice up above - now he's drawing back ever slightly, the needle-like pain in his heart feeling intense, like a burning building.]

It would be right to be afraid.

[There's a moment of conflict inside of him. He wants to pull close again, keep him there, but he won't-- he can't do that to Vergilius.

Thankfully, the plants aren't giving away everything in Daan's heart.]

I wasn't scared of you, Vergilius. ...I'm only scared for you.

Besides. I'm... the one who killed you, anyway.

["All I could think was to change your fate. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try."]

I don't hold that against you.

[He'll say that as much as Daan needs to hear. The City is built off of death. If he dies, he'll regret what he leaves behind, but its written in stone as much as anything. One day, he will die.]

[He shakes his head, as if he can't bear to hear what the man says.]

You don't....need to move the world for me, Daan. The world would be better off without me in the end.

Vergilius...

[How does he say what he's feeling in his heart from those words? Misery? Despair? Ah, but he doesn't need to sort it out, because the plants in this damned city sure love to share such secrets. The darkest, the most pitiful--

"There's nothing for me back home. Nothing and no one. What else is new? I made arrangements for when I don't return. Cold forest, raining, running, flesh against stone and dirt, the building howls and blood is in the air--"]

Stop. [His voice almost sounds like it's pleading.

"The world would be better off? Then forget the world. I would've carved off more, but I'm a man of my word."]

You shouldn't...

[He starts, stops, expression crumpling into something a little helpless. His red eyes are overshadowed by his hair. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand any of this.]

[Do you consider yourself as substrate for others, doctor? Should you throw yourself in the fire for something like this? I've already descended into the depths of the Inferno. I refuse you to follow.]

[He shakes his head.]

You shouldn't...break your heart on account of me.

Can't I decide what I get to do?

["Here I am again, in that familiar pit of despair. How do you break something already broken? The world doesn't owe us anything, the world won't care about anyone. It just keeps turning, no matter how much you bleed or weep."

Daan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Get another mask, run little rabbit run. Cut your ears to a point."]

...Then let me go if you're so eager to push me away. [He doesn't even sound angry. Just weary, worn from his own words, ready to mourn what only existed inside of him.]

[Being killed felt easier than this. He would rather bleed out now than feel the sorrow in Daan's expression, that exhaustion apparent in every line of his body.]

[I felt my eyes tremble for a moment.
I planned to walk the path on my lonesome.
But the red light shining from a jewel shattered to pieces,
The warmth of that light offered to me by a child, both familiar yet different,
That single sentence from a stranger which compelled me to turn my head, if only faintly, to the light,
And a faded promise from the past...]

[Ah. A memory of a time he also faltered because of his soft, soft, pathetically moved heart.]

[Another whisper, voice cracking.]

[Why does this thing called a heart not work as I wish it to?]

[He trembles, raising a hand to rub over his eyes.]

....I can't.

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