tvk | ⚔ 016; [video]

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lancer (diarmuid ua duibhne)

⚔ 016; [video]

I-if anyone has a moment, I'm having a small problem. [This was the understatement of the millennium.]

I'd like to ask how...h-how...er...forgive me, I am having some trouble articulating things today. [Diarmuid adjusted the glasses he wore, seeming hesitant to look directly at the camera at first.]

Imagine one that...has gone through life without anger or hatred. This individual had never felt spite, resentment, or even a shred of those kind of things. He did all he could to put others and their happiness before himself and his own, finding contentment and joy in doing so. But after a certain point, that person...he found someone that did something so deplorable that it left that person filled with rage and spite.

He found someone that he hated. And no matter how he tried, that person could not simply forgive what was done to earn that hatred.

I beg of you, Prospero. Someone please tell me how that person can go back to the way he was. Before he could feel anger and spite, back when he could still grant forgiveness.

[Diarmuid looked away for a moment; he was unsure, even worried.]

Fionn, Grainne-- [Gods, what would they think of him when they knew?] ...there is something I have not yet told you. Forgive me for not doing so until now.

Arturia... [Another pause. She had been there when he had died, she knew the horrible rage he had unleashed that day. Cursing her, Kayneth, Kiritsugu, even the Grail itself. Again he worried that she must secretly detest such a hateful spirit.] When you have the time...I would like to speak with you. Please.

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Time is probably the best solution to his failure to grasp the situation here. I have my doubts that one such as he could simply be told the truth to any useful effect.

He wouldn't listen even if you did.

As I suspected.

Would it be accurate to say that hatred itself is something that you fail to fully comprehend?

I'm no fool, and I understand it to an extent.

But what I don't comprehend is how to stop it from utterly overtaking me.

Edited 2012-01-08 23:06 (UTC)

I cannot truthfully claim that it did no such thing to me, merely that it is truth which pulled me from the abyss.

...not to pry, but if that's a story you're willing to recount then I will listen. I could surely use the help at this point.

...Diarmuid. Please understand that this is not a story for the world's ears, and that it is one I prefer to leave in the past to the extent that I am able. That being said... it is for good reason that I switched this to a private call, to say nothing of it being only fair that I should speak of this to you now.

Do I really look like the kind who would freely give away others' secrets? Just because I have none of my own does not mean I am incapable of keeping them.

If you don't wish to tell it, then you're under no obligation to. But if you do, then I am very capable of keeping such things to myself.

[Edgeworth shakes his head.] Between the graciousness you have shown me since my arrival, what you have already volunteered today, and the insight that it may provide on the subject in question, I have every reason to make the effort.

[The prosecutor takes a breath and puts some effort into putting his emotions back in check. (This is testimony. I am merely providing the expert testimony necessary to allow Diarmuid to understand his own case.)]

...It began when I was nine. Father... Gregory Edgeworth... brought me to the courthouse to observe his work as a defense attorney, as he had promised me days before. My recollection of the trial itself is vague, overshadowed as it is by the events later that day, but only a few details are vital to the sweep of my life. The prosecutor was Manfred von Karma, a man heralded and feared as undefeated -- Father stood no chance against him. However, while Father lost the case, he managed to prove that the autopsy report presented was a forgery, causing von Karma to suffer the first penalty ever to appear on his record.

[Diarmuid couldn't really say he understood how a modern judicial system worked. But he at least comprehended what Edgeworth was telling him on some level--that much wasn't a difficult concept, and so he listened attentively despite the foreign terms being tossed around.]

I understand things so far. [To an extent.] Please, continue.

After the trial, Father and I went to... th-the elevator on our way out of the courthouse. The two of us... and a bailiff -- a guard, essentially -- by the name of Yanni Yogi. [Strain is already present in Edgeworth's voice, but it increases sharply as he continues.] I-it was during the r-ride downward... th-the earthquake... I...

[The picture shakes -- clearly not purposefully, given that Edgeworth himself seems to be losing his composure with normally-uncharacteristic speed.]

[He wasn't sure what to say at first, or if anything he could think of would just worsen the situation. Finally he spoke, hesitant and uncertain.]

...perhaps this is a conversation better held in person?

...t-... 212.

[A hotel number? (Hint: yes, yes it is.)]

Two minutes.

[You'd be surprised how easy it is to take a ton of flights of stairs after running cross-country.]

[Knock knock.]

[A click of a door being unlocked, then a shaky turn of a doorknob, then an equally-shaky prosecutor stepping out of the way.

The room itself is neatly-organized thus far. A black trenchcoat hangs on the coat rack, neatly-stacked papers are arranged on the table, a tea set takes up most of the counter space in the kitchenette, and on a short bookshelf next to the bed, difficult-looking legal books stand in a formidable row. ~~They mock you.~~ On top of the bookshelf stands a plush purple unicorn -- presumably one of the ones Neah handed out -- and a book on medieval weaponry with a bookmark sticking out of it.]

Are you alright? [First things first, of course. There was clear concern on Diarmuid's face as he walked in, sparing a cursory glance to his surroundings before focusing back on Edgeworth.]

[Edgeworth shakes his head before walking with clear difficulty to the well-made bed, sitting on its edge, and burying his face in his hands.]

...I'm sorry. [Hesitantly, he followed; even more so he awkwardly rested a hand on Edgeworth's shoulder.] It was not my intention to bring up such things, and for that I apologize.

Edited 2012-01-09 01:47 (UTC)

[Edgeworth visibly flinches at the touch. At the apology, the prosecutor shakes his head.]

I-I... should be... stronger... th-than this. I... was able to... t-tell Wright...

I may know little of anger, Edgeworth, but I know that there is no shame in despair.

It... it has been seventeen y-years, Diarmuid... and every question has been answered. I sh-should have... no reason to be so weak.

[Is he telling Diarmuid this, or himself?]

I don't think that's true. Some pain does not fade and does not diminish, no matter how much time passes. There is nothing wrong with feeling pain at any great source of anguish, whether it be several months or several years past.

...Objection. [Weakest objection ever.]

I... no longer have nightmares about it, save when an earthquake occurs. Once, I had them nearly every night.

That's better progress than most could ask for. Far better, in fact.

Servants...don't dream. But since my arrival here--and this is something I've not even told Arturia--I've found myself having them disturbingly often. Another new experience for me, frankly.

Did you not dream in your original life? [Topic changes help!]

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