Do you truly need my words to know something to be true? I enjoy challenging you, murdering you is solely a consequence to winning a life-or-death game, isn't it?
(he will... die? by dazai's hand, no less? he takes a moment to look at it and sigh. a hand that shouldn't kill, but will, if needed. he's not half the man he wants to be, is he?)
Unlike most beings on this earth, I cannot read you entirely, Dazai-kun. Some things I know, not everything. [ fyodor considers. ] I would like to die in clean flesh, if possible. Though I assume you have no preference?
After I complete my mission, of course. I will agree to a double suicide with you.
[ as if it were that simple. fyodor will never give up the book, not for anything less than what he wants and what he wants-he frowns, scanning dazai's face, searching for a trick or a lie or any other tell. ]
You mean to say that, in the case I lose, we should still kill ourselves together? Isn't that a little bit of a premature death for a member of the triumphant, righteous agency?
I am not afraid I won't return, I simply don't hold on to absolutes. If there's a way to return, it's you and me together who can figure it out, no other way possible.
I simply don't have blind faith, like a religious person.
Absolutes are inescapable things, [ fyodor considers; he believes in them. he follows them, out of religious or personal belief. perhaps it is because his ability is this. but another point of divergence isn't necessarily bad between himself and dazai.
still. you and me together who can figure it out--that's new, he's played against dazai but to play with him--to have someone who needs no further elaboration to understand. that makes a delightful warmth curl in his chest.]
Only if you believe so. I walk a very grey line, wouldn't you think?
(a man whose heart bleeds in black, drips darkness with each and every step, but whose feet lead him to the light. no absolutes here. he is what he is, a recovering criminal, whose fingers would pull a trigger if needed, even against fyodor's chest.
either way, he wholeheartedly believes that if there is a way, it's only dazai and fyodor who could find it - not separate, but together, a unit, and he meant it when he said it. his hand gently tucks a strand of hair away from the man's face, only so he can see him better.)
[ he does not startle at the touch, instead chewing harder on his index finger, as he thinks. not so much about grey morality and whatnot, but how to get out of here and return.
after a minute, fyodor replies:] It also implies uncertainty. Doubt. Makes the margin of error wider.
(he doesn't think he's making fyodor nervous, nor is it his desire to do so. he's always been eating his fingers like that, so, he barely thinks it's connected.
he allows for the silence, eyes never leaving the other, watching his thoughtful expression as he laughs.)
Yes! That's, unfortunately, part of life. Or was Gogol taking us, as you say he did, predictable?
Surprising but not entirely unpredictable. I did not write his death onto the page after all. I allowed him to have that freedom for himself: life or death, and he chose--well, he chose to become something else. Not an ally, not a participant but a spectator to the game.
[ he turns back the weight of his gaze on dazai. ] But when you leave this place, then Meursault and go back to your simple detective life, will that make you less likely to crave for death? To be good? Are you not tired of going against your nature?
(he listens for a while, leaves that question in the air so that fyodor can attempt to find the answer by himself. there's no way of hiding who he is when it comes from the people from his own home. youngest boss in mafia history, his sole name makes people tremble and freeze, and yet? here he is.)
is it? fyodor searches for the lie in those liquid brown eyes; none that he can spot. he should be the demon prodigy and yet, yet. if truth be told, dazai's mental wellbeing is probably harmed by fyodor's violence. ]
No putting your faith in the unknown? How very you. [ the one thing fyodor does know to be absolute truth in this moment is that this, this right here, is fun. the back and forth, the challenge. ]
God won't enjoy it when you knock at His gates, Dazai.
[ ...what a weirdly obscure thing to say. as if they're both already dead. ]
[ dearest of mine. dearest of heart. dearest, darling dazai. fyodor bites his tongue, feels it swell inside his mouth, his chest. ] Maybe not Him but there must be some equivalent in this place.
Perhaps this one doesn't need holiness to allow approach.
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(he will... die? by dazai's hand, no less? he takes a moment to look at it and sigh. a hand that shouldn't kill, but will, if needed. he's not half the man he wants to be, is he?)
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cw suicide
cw suicide
[ as if it were that simple. fyodor will never give up the book, not for anything less than what he wants and what he wants-he frowns, scanning dazai's face, searching for a trick or a lie or any other tell. ]
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(they don't know, after all. perhaps when they're old, their bones frail and their skin flaccid. perhaps then.)
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Are you afraid you will not return?
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I simply don't have blind faith, like a religious person.
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still. you and me together who can figure it out--that's new, he's played against dazai but to play with him--to have someone who needs no further elaboration to understand. that makes a delightful warmth curl in his chest.]
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(a man whose heart bleeds in black, drips darkness with each and every step, but whose feet lead him to the light. no absolutes here. he is what he is, a recovering criminal, whose fingers would pull a trigger if needed, even against fyodor's chest.
either way, he wholeheartedly believes that if there is a way, it's only dazai and fyodor who could find it - not separate, but together, a unit, and he meant it when he said it. his hand gently tucks a strand of hair away from the man's face, only so he can see him better.)
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after a minute, fyodor replies:] It also implies uncertainty. Doubt. Makes the margin of error wider.
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he allows for the silence, eyes never leaving the other, watching his thoughtful expression as he laughs.)
Yes! That's, unfortunately, part of life. Or was Gogol taking us, as you say he did, predictable?
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[ he turns back the weight of his gaze on dazai. ] But when you leave this place, then Meursault and go back to your simple detective life, will that make you less likely to crave for death? To be good? Are you not tired of going against your nature?
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It's worth it, Fyodor.
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is it? fyodor searches for the lie in those liquid brown eyes; none that he can spot. he should be the demon prodigy and yet, yet. if truth be told, dazai's mental wellbeing is probably harmed by fyodor's violence. ]
I can see you believe that.
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(with a brain like that, it's only fair.)
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God won't enjoy it when you knock at His gates, Dazai.
[ ...what a weirdly obscure thing to say. as if they're both already dead. ]
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(and truth be told, neither is fyodor. they can sit in their hell cage, staring into the other's eyes, their personal paradise.)
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Perhaps this one doesn't need holiness to allow approach.
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Ah, so now we're not thinking about dying at home?
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[ fyo...no, murder is bad. ]
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[ ...fy pls.
he sits back, incredulity visible in the lines of his face. ] Ultimately, I can't murder you, we have an agreement.
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(he won't even dignify the latter with a response. fyodor dislikes touch enough for dazai to figure out why, and further imagine the consequences.)
So I must not get my kiss because of it? That's rather unfair. I could die tomorrow, you know, for non-Russian related causes.
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...i am so sorry
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