etrayalogs | [ closed ] you see a man

[ He rests his elbows on the surface of the table and makes a ehhh noise as he doesn't know how else to respond to Vander saying Vincent doesn't control the man's emotions. Gently pushing his glasses up, he exhales a long sigh: ] All right, let's talk religion.

[ But he drops his arms soon after so he can start scooping out more of the dip and chips. Each time he eats, he wiggles his fingers. ] Isn't it cozy? Truly one of life's few pleasures that we have in life. Doing crime in a place without a society.

[ He chuckles to himself. ] Oh, you know -- whining, sniveling, bending oneself over backwards while apologizing on one's knees. [ He flicks his fingers over the dip. ] I value myself much more than whatever pride or ego I might have. If it takes debasing myself to survive, I don't see any reason why I need to hold my head up high.

[ A flicking finger toward Vander. ] You should write that down. [ And he smiles before continuing: ] I learned something I suppose. But it's mostly that it was just... unproductive to my plans to keep being upset about dying. We're alive now... what are people going to do? Hold us a funeral so we can feel better?

[ He holds his hands out to him. ] There are things to do. [ He claps his hands together, sharp, violent. ] Nothing else to do but move on.

[Vander watched Vincent, nodding his head in agreement about the topic of tonight's entertainment: religion. He knew that Vincent also had a keen interest in Kindred, which he expected he would divulge to keep the conversation one of giving between them.

He tilted his head at the introduction. Was Vincent talking about his home? There was a lot of crime, and people did relish that aspect of their freedom even if it came with its own manner of oppression. Were all worlds like that though? Rampant with crime and culture and oppression?] Are you talking about your home then? Or Etraya? Most places will create a sense of community eventually after all.

[He shrugged his shoulders; he still hadn't entirely determined his own fate even though he called himself dead. His life as he had once known it was definitely over. It was complicated.] I can't say I care much for funerals. Maybe a little monument for a small time that will fade away or be replaced in time.

[He watched Vincent.] Is that what your religion tells you to do? Move on?

I'm talking about here, of course.

[ He flicks his fingers off to the side. Some bot in the morning is going to have to clean up flecks of dip off the surface of the table and floor -- and not feel anything about it because it's a bot. ]

I'm not even sure I would like that, but -- [ Vincent flicks his fingers yet again. There isn't much that is left of what he's eating but he did enjoy it for what it was. ] It seems you aren't a bad chef, at least. So maybe they'll remember you for that, Vander. [ He's funny. ]

As I told you, death is considered a miracle. We do not fear death.

[Vander nodded at the confirmation, so he could adjust himself to the proper context of what they were discussing here. He took a sip from his bottle of whiskey, noting the crumbs making their way off the table. It should annoy him as someone who frequently cleaned up the messes of others, but he wouldn't waste time on that here.]

As in, you feel like it is pointless for people to remember you in a physical way? How do you feel about people talking about you, your deeds or your memory? [He nodded his head, following the jumping conversation topics without much discomfort.] That's not what I'll be remembered for, but thank you.

[A miracle, huh? Well, he supposed that Kindred might also feel that way; he wouldn't know.] Most people fear death in some capacity. There is a healthy fear of the unknown, of losing influence and permanence.

I don't think I've done enough to be remembered by anyone.

[ Vincent has thought about it, though. If things had been different, if he never came to this place, he would've just been a footnote in Heather's life. A man that she met and watch die. Something she would've eventually moved past, and that would be the end of him being remembered. His name possibly even forgotten.

He didn't feel anything about that revelation then, and he doesn't feel anything about that knowledge at present. ]

Well, you're welcome, I suppose.

[ He opens his hands as he gestures above his head. ] Most people with religion believe their God will welcome them at the time of death. There's a sort of -- [ He rolls his wrist in the air. ] -- peaceful connotation to death when you have a sense of what is to come next. [ He pauses to push his glasses up, feeling them yet again slip down. ]

Immortality is considered a punishment, not a boon.

You don't think, huh? Would it bother you if you went away and people remembered you?

[He currently planning on inquiry with Maria about Vincent when the time was right, but at this point, he wanted to discover what he could about the man and formulate his own opinions. He did not yet have a sense of what Vincent was actually fighting for, if anything at all. Clearly the man had opinions.

He had never thought much about what his death would mean or where he would go. There were means that he had heard about in whispers at darkened trader tables of how people escaped death. It had all seemed like certain myth, yet every good story had a kernel of truth even if it was so twisted up that it hardly looked like itself anymore.]

Indeed. It assuages the fear of the unknown to believe there is something beyond the veil of death.] With your God, what awaits you on the other side of that veil? Rebirth, purgatory, heaven, hell? Or perhaps a sense of peaceful isolation?

[He went quiet and still at that, wondering if he could die.] I suppose immortality would make you a monster of sorts.

Yes.

[ He rubs the area on his nose that the pads of his glasses rest on. It pushes his glasses up as his fingers gently massage the area before he moves his hand. And then has to adjust his glasses once more. ]

When you die, the way you're remembered is a story anyone can make about you. You have no way to alter their warped perceptions. Everything about you can end up being changed to fit some ideal or curse that someone decides for you.

[ Vincent would rather die in obscurity than allow something like that to happen to him. Even if he was idealized, he would be irritated. ]

Paradise awaits. Resurrection is horrific, but rebirth is not. [ He holds his hands up to indicate the difference. ] However, God does not want to send Her people back, but have us join her. [ Kicking and screaming, too. ]

It means that you haven't completed your true penance and have to keep living until you have learned what you need to learn. [ He flicks his wrist to the side, dismissive. ] It's a lesson and a punishment.

Well, history is written by the victors.

[He would allow Vincent that point, but Vander quite frankly didn't care about his legacy or how he was spoken. He had done his best and then died trying to save his daughter; for him, that would always be enough for him. How he was remembered by that was for other people to decide. He was dead, so what did he care?]

Yeah well, there are sometimes a lack of choices when it comes to the permanence of one's demise, I expect. Every place as its own rules surrounding it, and even then, there will always be someone or someone's looking to pervert it. [He brought his bottle to his lips and took a longer than necessary drag from it. He could use a smoke, he thought.] Oh does She? And what does Paradise look like for you with your God, hmm?

[He forced himself to shrug his shoulders. He wondered about the truth of that statement after all that he had done in his life. Maybe Vincent was onto something.] So your religion is about punishment and lessons then?

[ Vincent makes a noise in the back of his throat but considers the question prompted to him answered.

His hand lifts and he slaps it on top of the surface of the table. ] I've answered enough of your questions. Start talking about your myths regarding death. [ Because the Paradise he sees isn't something an outsider would understand. It's the oppressive, suffocating weight of his home; nothing coming in; nothing leaving. ]

For the most part, but so is Catholicism. [ His shoulders shrug yet again and he slaps the table in front of Vander once more. ]

[Vander paused in taking a sip from his bottle at the sudden slap, raising his thick eyebrow in inquiry. He didn't think the Paradise question was too invasive, but he knew a dodge when he saw one. He filed away that subject to broach at a different time or perhaps with a different person.

He made a noise in his throat.] The Lamb and the Wolf, huh? They go by many names depending on the culture, but they are the same. [He set his bottle on the table and suddenly sat forward. Vander had always been a talented storyteller.] The Kindred by some, The Taker, the Eternal Hunters, the Grey Man even...

They operate together, appearing to kill those whose time it is. The Lamb is said to use a bow that provides a swift and clean death for those that accept it is their time. The Wolf hunts down those that run from their fate and tears them apart, a violent and terrifying finality. [His voice had dropped low as if providing secretive information, as if even speaking of Kindred might bring it here to be among them.]

Some places worship the Lamb for its mercy. Some worship the Wolf for its violence.

[ Vincent props his elbow on the table; he lightly taps his fingers against his chin. His expression sours as he feels how wet his own fingers are but whatever. He's going to use the back of his hand to clean off where he touched. ]

Hmmm. [ His eyes close as he appreciates this story and the theatrics that go into it, but only just. Sounds like the Sect of Valtiel. Those that worship the Wolf for its violence. ]

Unfortunate, they really do need a third option of worship. [ He lightly scratches the side of his face. ] After all, wouldn't those that worship the Lamb be in opposition to those that worship the Wolf? Even if they are both aspects of Death?

[ A hum. ] It seems like there needs to be a third to act as intermediary. [ Funny enough -- the Sect of Valtiel was the intermediary between his sect and the others. The executioners who believed in maintaining balance as God would will it. ]

[He did wait for Vincent's assessment and critique; he couldn't say that he had met either part of the Kindred when he had died. Maybe it happened too fast and that part of his memory was blanked. He knew he accepted his death when he struck the ground. Then again, had he truly died? He didn't know and there was no one to ask.]

Wouldn't the third option to worship both? They are the same entity, just operate at different sides of the scale. [He would think that some would want those who deserved a quick quiet death to have that option and those who were deemed deserving of a violent death to experience that. Together, never apart.]

From what I understand, Noxus only believes in the wolf. The wolf's strength, viciousness and capabilities. They are a warring nation, so most of their deaths are probably violent in some way. [He shrugged his shoulders. History had told him that Noxus was not a place to mess around with.]

Each nation believes differently. I don't know all their lore and belief systems, only hear tidbits from traveling merchants, traders and curious tourists.

That might very well be the third option. [ Worshiping them both. ] People really don't know how to make different sects anymore, do they?

[ His hand flicks side to side, not dismissively but irritated. ] They're worshiping the wrong one. You know that right? The warring one should kneel to the Lamb over the Wolf. [ Leaning back in his chair, he crosses his arms as he can't help but shake his head. ]

I suppose that's fair and right, though, that you'd only know so much. It seems like you might be one that worships both. Which makes you a lovely intermediary to those who can't even figure things out right. [ He pauses to uncross his arms so he can push his glasses up. ]

But, really, peaceful areas should worship that which brings violence, because it'll promise something to those that may threaten. Warring should worship peace otherwise they're little more than deranged lunatics seeking violence over control. [ He tilts his head to the side. ]

I wouldn't know. The Lamb and the Wolf aren't particularly entities I exactly spent much time worshipping. It seems morbid to invite death in a place where it's already so common. [The undercity had many spirits and so-called deities that they paid certain tributes to, but Janna was their primary. Tributes and statues to her were everywhere, a reminder of clean air and helping thy neighbour.

He shrugged his shoulders at Vincent's question.] It's not my place to tell people who they should be worshipping and why. Worship is a personal decision, usually with plenty of indoctrination.

[The corner of his lips did lift at the observation about him. It wasn't wrong. There were circumstances where he would endorse the Wolf and others where he would the Lamb.] I see no point in seeing the benefit of one over the other. They both have their place in this world. Besides, it seems a terrible thing to walk the world - any world - alone, so I suppose if we could split in half to have an eternal partner, it wouldn't be the worst.

[He was amused and not surprised that Vincent held such opinions. He sipped from his whiskey bottle, set back on the table top and then pointed a finger at his conversational partner for the night.] Hence why Noxus worships the Wolf. They are conquerors and pride only strength and cunning and skill. Their reputation is formidable. The strength of one's character is probably proven with how violent their death is.

[ Vincent props his elbow up on the table. He gently massages the area next to one of his eyes -- it occasionally moves his glasses and he has to use his other hand to make small adjustments to fix.

But it does seem like he is listening to Vander on his points. He still thinks that those that worship either Lamb or Wolf doesn't know how to make a proper religious organization (what is with other worlds and their inability to make proper cults? vincent has notes and issues to bring). ]

In the end, they found peace in death. One way or the other. [ Is probably the wrong final summation to come from it, but that is about what is said, as well. ] Rather than what comes after, it's what death will bring them the most peace. [ He hums a little more as he closes his eyes in thought. ]

And where do you find your peace? [ He opens one eye. ] From one dead man to another, I wonder where your peace lies now. [ His mouth splits open into a smile - like a dagger in the darkness. ] Is it all right to ask?

[Vander was coming to the conclusion that Vincent might need to have those glasses adjusted as the other man was constantly playing with them. Perhaps someone had punched him in the nose and caused a malalignment. He lost count of the number of times that happened in the undercity.]

Well, death found them. Whether there is peace or not is up for debate. I expect one doesn't have a choice when the fall curtain has fully closed. [He remembered his consciousness fading, yet there was a part of him that recalled the sisters crying and yelling. Then... well, he'd wound up here. Was that peaceful? He couldn't say.

His grey eyes darkened at the question and he made a point to lift his bottle to take a far larger swig from it.] You already asked, so it's a little late to inquire if you have that right. [Suddenly, casualness drew back as he leaned forward in his chair and then rested his elbow on the table, for the first time leaning across it towards Vincent.]

There is no peace for me. There's just... quiet at times. [And he didn't consider the quiet to be peaceful.] Perhaps I will have peace if I can save my world, if such an option actually exists here. Until then, I suppose I endure the quiet. [He gestured at Vincent.] Where is your peace?

You're right, of course. They really don't have a choice.

[ Rather than sound lamenting, Vincent sounds pleased. His hand slides over his mouth as he starts to laugh to himself. It's a broken, gasping laughter. Yet somehow not loud enough to even be called such. He inhales sharp and waves his hand soon after. ]

To ask forgiveness before asking permission -- isn't that a good way to go? [ A quip back that lacks any sort of heat. However, he seems pleased with what Vander has to say. The idea that there is no peace for him and only quiet. His smile only widens at hearing such a response, it honestly pleases him more than it should. ]

It's in the darkness and the oppressive wave of silence. [ He holds his arms out to gesture to the cafe that they're in. Lightly patting both his hands on the table, he indicates his part seems to be coming to a close. The food is eaten. The wine -- he pauses to lightly shake the box -- seems like it's halfway gone. ]

Shall we part on our peace, then?

[Vander opted to say nothing further on that particular subject. Someone once told him that peace was never an option, just a path they strove to find and often failed in the endeavour. And that laugh was something he would memorize.

He hummed, knowing people who never bothered to ask permission or seek forgiveness afterward.] I don't think you should bother to ask for either if you have no intention of caring about the answers. [He knew that Vincent was going to ask regardless; they had hit that point in the night where they knew just enough about each other to push.

He regarded the other man, and the answer was one he accepted and believed.] It seems we learned some things about each other tonight. I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.

[He rose from his chair in a single smooth motion. He checked the clock, noting the time. He should be getting back to his apartment. Maria would surely be asleep at this point, and he owed her a little snuggle before he too fell asleep. Though, Vincent had provided him something to think about.

Interesting fellow. He capped his bottle of whiskey and tucked it under his arm.]

Indeed. Me back to the quiet, and you to the oppressive silence. Keep the wine. I'll cook for you again next time we meet.

[He winked at Vincent, letting the previous disquiet melt away as he stepped away from the table to leave.]

[ closed ] you see a man

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