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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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!]

Of course, but certainly not of my own death.

[Edgeworth pales and looks away. That hit closer to home than he was counting on.] I... see.

...I should continue.

As you wish. Please, take your time.

...The earthquake... was intense, one of the worst to strike the region in many years. Part of the courthouse collapsed, and the remainder lost power. The elevator was in the part which survived, y-yet... without power, it... stopped, and w-went dark.

[Edgeworth's struggle to contain himself is a blatantly difficult one...]

[Lancer nodded slightly to acknowledge he was still listening, waiting patiently for Edgeworth to be able to continue.]

[Edgeworth forces himself to breathe slowly, then struggles to open his eyes and look at Diarmuid. The panic that he's remembering, that he's trying not to outright flash back to, has to be obvious, but right now it's more important that the prosecutor sees reminders that he's not there.]

This... requires clarification, I suppose. Some elevators are poorly designed. While all are required to... to h-have sturdy doors not easily opened by hand lest people fall out or be struck by passing floors while it's in motion... [...shaking harder, including vocally...] n-not all... are p-properly ventilated. Under normal circumstances, it matters not, b-but that day...

We were trapped for hours, Diarmuid. Three of us, in the dark, in a tiny box... a-and eventually, the air grew thin.

...I imagine things must have gotten somewhat tense.

[Things usually did when one's mortality came into the picture.]

Extraordinarily so. Furthermore, for lack of oxygen, we weren't thinking entirely straight. It... is remarkable th-that... that F-Father retained his composure to the end... t-to his end.

[The prosecutor begins to tear up, and clenches his jaw in an attempt to hold back sobs.]

...Please, don't feel you have to rush yourself. I have plenty of time, and I will listen as long as you have something to tell.

[Edgeworth nods with a slowness that would almost seem unnatural if one didn't take into account how much he's having to restrain himself. He's silent for a moment, then takes in a wheezing breath before continuing.]

Yanni Yogi in particular... grew desperate and frantic. H-he decided to try to stop Father from breathing -- by ch-choking him, if my nightmare can be given any weight. In my half-conscious desperation, I... grabbed a gun that was lying at my feet. I didn't know if it was evidence, or the bailiff's; indeed, I... was so addled in the mind at that moment that its proper use eluded me. It merely registered... as a d-dangerous object to th-throw at Father's assailant.

[Edgeworth leans his head on his hand, and the remainder of what he has to say is whimpered as much as stated.] Somehow, it m-misfired. We all l-lost consciousness with two sounds ringing in our ears: the gunshot, and a blood-curdling scream.

...I'm sorry, Edgeworth. [He couldn't think of anything else to say. This was a considerable thing to bear even for a knight, and he could scarcely imagine what it took for a civilian to live with it.]

[Edgeworth seems unable to acknowledge Diarmuid's comment, continue, or indeed do anything but sniffle and struggle to hold back sobs.]

... [Cautiously, Diarmuid again tried to place a light hand on Edgeworth's shoulder. What else could he do? There was little if any comfort he could think to offer, having been raised by a loving foster father. He couldn't even imagine losing him in such a way.]

[This time, Edgeworth is too far gone for his shoulder's reaction to the touch to be anything but halfhearted. He's shaking, and with one hand seems to be fumbling for something in an inner coat pocket.]

...you're not alone, Edgeworth. If nothing else, I can offer you that much as consolation.

[Edgeworth shakes his head weakly, then finally pulls out what he's been fumbling for -- a handkerchief, which he uses to dry his eyes as he continues to sniffle and choke.]

[Diarmuid didn't say anything further, patiently waiting for Edgeworth to regain his composure.]

[It only takes a couple of minutes for Edgeworth to calm down enough to attempt to tell the story further.]

Th-that... is the context. I... I deeply admired my father. Th-the events that came n-next... s-seemed calculated to s-spit upon his memory.

[In other words, we're getting into the hate part now.]

Please, go ahead. I'm listening.

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