[Wow, that sure was a trial!! Good thing it's over and no one is upset about anything that happened during it, right? It's with that questionable mindset that Lobelia bumps into Beelzebub and greets him with a bright, toothy grin, seemingly without a care in the world.]
Heheh! What a fitting name for someone with the constitution of wet paper.
[As for Beelezebub... Lobelia hums thoughtfully.]
If I had to name a particular breed, you most strongly resemble a Doberman. They're known for being strong, trustworthy, straightforward animals... and with as much energy as they expend, they do require quite a bit of food.
Heh, try not to misunderstand me! You seem to think I'm the one who needs to be prudent, but if you air your grievances so openly, you'll be the one paying the price for it.
You've been starving. Always starving. Every hour, every day, ever since you came to this place. You roam the castle walls, look out windows to a sky of nothing but black, a horizon of crooked rooftops and rising smoke, the echoes in a house that's not your own, in a form that feels wrong. It's you, and yet it isn't you. The wings on your back are a stranger, the horns on your head a heavy, unforgiving weight.
And your hunger, a claw, that digs and digs and digs. You've never been this hungry. But every sunless day makes it worse.
You eat. It begs for more. You feed it. It begs for more. Your brothers look at you with confusion. With concern. With fear. With disgust. They tell you to stop.
You try, at first. You try to ignore how your stomach growls louder than the people talking at the tables. The digging starts to crawl to your mind. It hurts. It hurts. You feel like you might bite off your own tongue.
Your hand finds something closeby. It hurts. You bring it to your mouth. It shatters between your teeth. You don't care. It hurts. You're hungry. It hurts.
Lucifer slaps it out of your wrist. Control yourself. Control yourself.
But it hurts. And the more it hurts, the more your mind slips. The walls are a space, the voices are a noise, the light is a nuisance, you smell anything and you smell everything and your stomach digs like a swarm of termites begging for an escape out of every pore, and you want, and you want, and you want, and you want, and you want, and you want, and
You feel the crack beneath your jaw, the pressure in your throat. Not enough.
More.
More.
More.
You hear the noise. The smells change, and you tense. You roar. It goes into your mouth. It all goes into your mouth. You follow the scents. You grab what you find. You unhinge. You chew. You swallow. You starve. You chew. You swallow. You starve.
You run out.
You starve. You starve. You howl.
It's agony.
It's agony.
Your space is in the way of the smells.
So you change that. Your body hits the wall. Your mouth tears at the space. You taste rock. You taste concrete. You taste steel. You taste wood. You swallow it all. You free yourself. Your space is bigger. You have to find more.
And you find more. And more. And more. And more.
And...
...
You're on your knees, in a basement library. Your hand is full and pressed to your mouth. Your tongue tastes of leather and paper. You withdraw your hand, and half of a book comes with it. Your brow furrows, as you turn to look at the debris you sit in, as you turn further to see shattered bookcases and a door thrown off its hinges. You see smoke coming from further in the building. You see rubble. You see a hole ripped straight through a far wall, and you see Lucifer's unapproving gaze.
You don't realize that you've brought the rest of the book to your mouth until you're swallowing. You don't know what's happened. You don't know what you are.
Happiness, sadness, anger, hunger. They're all feelings he's watched others freely express, but none of it is anything he feels anywhere near as keenly. He angers like anyone else, but those moments are flashes in a pan. Over and done with in an instant. "Happiness" doesn't last much longer. Sadness? He has nothing and no one to cry about.
Intrinsically, every living being feels hunger as a biological impulse. Lobelia is no different, but he isn't driven by his hunger in the same way that someone like Beelzebub is. That's who this memory belongs to, is it not? There's no one else it could belong to, that hunger akin to madness for how all-consuming it is.
Lobelia certainly understands that.
Still, he doesn't despise this feeling anywhere near as much as he should. To crave something so severely, to desire it so much that everything else in life ceases to matter? Only on rare occasions has he felt such a feeling. Only rarely has he felt so alive.
What Beelzebub has inadvertently given him is a gift. The grand, immaculate gift of pain, yearning, need, insatiable want. There's no recording this feeling and confining it to a conch. Lobelia savors the moment as long as it lasts, and then the moment is over. It ends, and Lobelia once again feels nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
And it's nothing that he repays Beelzebub with.
He'll find himself in the loving embrace of two parents who could not be more proud of him.
"Everyone has the right to be happyβ everyone and anyone. That means you too, Lobelia..."
"Use that talent of yours, and youβre guaranteed to be happy! Youβre a genius, son, and youβre certain to succeed! Live a life of bliss, Lobelia!"
But their love cannot teach someone like you to feel all it is they feel for you. Happiness, sadness, anger, hunger. They're all feelings you'll watch others freely express, but none of it is anything you feel anywhere near as keenly.
The death of your own parents brings you joy, elation, pure ecstasy, but those feelings fade no matter how much you listen to their dying screams echo back through the conch. Their voices no longer bring you joy. If anything, you miss their warm embrace, their words of praise, but you'll never hear those things again. You destroyed them.
Your rampage of destruction escalates. You kill tens, hundreds, thousands of people only to experience the most momentary joys before those too are snuffed out. You form a pact with a being whose sole purpose is to wreak destruction. Toppling entire cities in an instant elates you, but you aren't happy.
You'll never be happy.
"I know what happiness is. I had it in my hands. Like a jewel. Oh shade of a man, will you scrabble at me for a mere taste of it?"
Satiation, but only fleetingly. Happiness, fullness, for moments at a time. At the end of the day, perhaps they aren't so different after all?]
[After hearing that the bonds with the dead would matter as much as the bonds with the living, Beel can't fight the uncomfortable dread that rises in his chest. He would rather not be around Lobelia. He would rather they keep this unsteady truce born from his own bitterness.
But he has a promise to keep.
So he goes to hunt down Lobelia with his jacket pockets stuffed with apples. He is already getting very tired of apples... but at least it's a reminder of better times.]
[Lobelia is, true to his word, minding his own business and leaving not just Beelzebub alone but everyone else in the garden save for a single man. He and Vergilius have an agreement, after all, and it's that agreement that has him going out of his way to mind Beelzebub's space whenever they happen to pass one another in this flower-clad purgatory.
It comes as something of a surprise when Beelzebub approaches him, Lobelia sat beneath the shade of a tree and whistling a tune on the edge of a leaf. Hm. Considering Beelzebub's... tendencies, Lobelia suspects he's here to pick the apples from the tree, so he simply stands up, dusts himself off, and prepares to vacate.]
[Ah. So Beelzebub meant to approach him? Lobelia manages not to say anything, but his surprise is written all over his face before he settles back into an easy smile. Hm! Maybe Beelzebub wants to kill him? Rip him to pieces and spread his entrails all over the garden? Lobelia certainly wouldn't deny him the opportunity, but...]
...Ah, but of course. We've nothing but time here. How can I help you, Beelzebub?
[An apology. Is he hearing Beelzebub correctly? Maybe Skywarp's atrocious singing really did damage his hearing, butβ no, he can believe the words he's hearing. Beelzebub isn't a bad person β quite the opposite, in fact β so this apology really ought not come as a surprise. Still...]
Merci beaucoup... that is to say, thank you, but I can assure you that no apology is necessary. I've earned your ire and then some, have I not?
[Even if he's found his happiness and thus changed his life to revolve around that very thing, Lobelia acted without care for how his choices would make Beelzebub feel. If anything, he should be demanding an apology from him. Still, Lobelia has a pretty good idea of what has inspired this sudden change of heart.]
Even so, I have no intention of remaining in this place. There is someone I've made a promise to, and so long as we remain imprisoned here, I can't uphold my end of our agreement. [...] It's no different for you, is it?
[Well, at least Lobelia isn't pretending otherwise. The apple comes to his mouth, bitten clean in half as Lobelia talks.]
Mn. You know who's important to me. I'd crawl out of this place with my bare hands for them if this were hell.
If Merlin needs help from us on restoring our bonds... that includes you and I. And if all I'm feeling towards you is anger when everyone else is trying to work towards some kind of truce, then that just makes me a hypocrite.
...
[Another exhale as his gaze narrows slightly.]
I don't forgive you for what you've done and said to me or to the people I love. But I'll put it aside for now, if it means getting all of us out of here.
Correct! I had alluded to as much myself when we last spoke.
[There is nothing to be gained by animosity in this place. Lobelia isn't a man who regrets his actions often enough to offer Beelzebub a genuine apology, but he is someone who will doggedly work towards his goals no matter the cost.
Even if bringing happiness to the one who gave him a reason to exist costs him his life, no part of Lobelia will falter. He won't waver. To that end, he senses he and Beelzebub don't differ one bit.]
Please understand that any apology from me would be a hollow, meaningless thing. In order to get to this point, sacrifices had to be madeβ casualties of my own ambition. If it helps you to better understand, imagine that I'm simply incapable of regretting any decision that furthers my ends.
Still, I believe we can work towards our common goal without issue. If you can put aside your personal feelings and offer me your assistance, I see no issue with offering you the same.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK 2 - TUESDAY NIGHT (un: Beelzeburger)
un: genie_du_son
[What sort of monster would do such a thing?]
WEEK TWO: saturday, post-trial.
Greetings, petit chien!
no subject
The redhead's eyes narrow for a second, but he nods.]
Lobelia.
You can just call me by my name. I won't mind.
no subject
Oh? Are you not a fan of your nickname? It's a term of endearment, you know.
no subject
[He just looks wary about it, but he seems too tired to give more of a response.]
no subject
[Hm.]
"Little puppy." Is it not a suitable moniker for one such as yourself?
no subject
And looks at Lobelia.
Dryly:] I don't see it.
no subject
no subject
[Hm. Pondering.]
I think I get it. We call one of the angels "Chihuahua". He doesn't shut up, and shakes all over when he's scared. He's scared most of the time.
Why am I a little dog, though?
no subject
[As for Beelezebub... Lobelia hums thoughtfully.]
If I had to name a particular breed, you most strongly resemble a Doberman. They're known for being strong, trustworthy, straightforward animals... and with as much energy as they expend, they do require quite a bit of food.
no subject
I do like dogs. Even Nona's dog. They're loyal, and good to exercise with.
I don't know how I feel about you calling me an animal, though.
no subject
[Lobelia tips his head to one side, curious, but he's not so lacking in self-awareness that he hasn't a clue why Beelzebub feels as he does.]
Does it strike a chord? Hit a little too close to home? Or do you suspect my nickname is borne of some ill intent?
no subject
You tease people constantly. It could get you in trouble if you're not careful.
But I think you know that much.
no subject
[Genuine question! For what it's worth, Lobelia doesn't seem bothered by the prospect of that.]
If you feel so strongly, why don't you do something about it?
no subject
[He already told Lobelia not to provoke him, but he clearly doesn't seem to care.]
Are you bored or something?
no subject
no subject
[Now who's threatening who? His eyes visibly show annoyance, but the stoic expression remains unbudging.]
I don't have time for this. If all you're here for is to prod at me, you can go now. I have better things to eat than you.
no subject
[But that said? Lobelia lifts his hands as if to throw in the flag. No more digs from him!]
Still, correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems you have nothing but time to spare... just like myself. What has you in such a rush?
no subject
[But that obvious note aside.]
I also told Overhaul I would clean up after myself. Otherwise, they might not be able to restock for everyone.
no subject
[Why does Lobelia sound so disappointed by this fact?]
Heheh! Cher chiot, I can't imagine they were serious. If our captors wanted to starve us all, they had many opportunities to do so already!
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I'm not taking the chance for starving, anyway.
[what does beel even count as "starving"]
no subject
[...Shall we rip you open and find out?]
Are you always so well-behaved in situations like this?
no subject
[Just giving him a tired, flat look.]
Were you expecting something different?
no subject
WEEK 5 MEMSHARE
You've been starving. Always starving. Every hour, every day, ever since you came to this place. You roam the castle walls, look out windows to a sky of nothing but black, a horizon of crooked rooftops and rising smoke, the echoes in a house that's not your own, in a form that feels wrong. It's you, and yet it isn't you. The wings on your back are a stranger, the horns on your head a heavy, unforgiving weight.
And your hunger, a claw, that digs and digs and digs. You've never been this hungry. But every sunless day makes it worse.
You eat. It begs for more. You feed it. It begs for more. Your brothers look at you with confusion. With concern. With fear. With disgust. They tell you to stop.
You try, at first. You try to ignore how your stomach growls louder than the people talking at the tables. The digging starts to crawl to your mind. It hurts. It hurts. You feel like you might bite off your own tongue.
Your hand finds something closeby. It hurts. You bring it to your mouth. It shatters between your teeth. You don't care. It hurts. You're hungry. It hurts.
Lucifer slaps it out of your wrist. Control yourself. Control yourself.
But it hurts. And the more it hurts, the more your mind slips. The walls are a space, the voices are a noise, the light is a nuisance, you smell anything and you smell everything and your stomach digs like a swarm of termites begging for an escape out of every pore, and you want, and you want, and you want, and you want, and you want, and you want, and
You feel the crack beneath your jaw, the pressure in your throat. Not enough.
More.
More.
More.
You hear the noise. The smells change, and you tense. You roar. It goes into your mouth. It all goes into your mouth. You follow the scents. You grab what you find. You unhinge. You chew. You swallow. You starve. You chew. You swallow. You starve.
You run out.
You starve. You starve. You howl.
It's agony.
It's agony.
Your space is in the way of the smells.
So you change that. Your body hits the wall. Your mouth tears at the space. You taste rock. You taste concrete. You taste steel. You taste wood. You swallow it all. You free yourself. Your space is bigger. You have to find more.
And you find more. And more. And more. And more.
And...
...
You're on your knees, in a basement library. Your hand is full and pressed to your mouth. Your tongue tastes of leather and paper. You withdraw your hand, and half of a book comes with it. Your brow furrows, as you turn to look at the debris you sit in, as you turn further to see shattered bookcases and a door thrown off its hinges. You see smoke coming from further in the building. You see rubble. You see a hole ripped straight through a far wall, and you see Lucifer's unapproving gaze.
You don't realize that you've brought the rest of the book to your mouth until you're swallowing. You don't know what's happened. You don't know what you are.
But you're still hungry.]
no subject
Happiness, sadness, anger, hunger. They're all feelings he's watched others freely express, but none of it is anything he feels anywhere near as keenly. He angers like anyone else, but those moments are flashes in a pan. Over and done with in an instant. "Happiness" doesn't last much longer. Sadness? He has nothing and no one to cry about.
Intrinsically, every living being feels hunger as a biological impulse. Lobelia is no different, but he isn't driven by his hunger in the same way that someone like Beelzebub is. That's who this memory belongs to, is it not? There's no one else it could belong to, that hunger akin to madness for how all-consuming it is.
Lobelia certainly understands that.
Still, he doesn't despise this feeling anywhere near as much as he should. To crave something so severely, to desire it so much that everything else in life ceases to matter? Only on rare occasions has he felt such a feeling. Only rarely has he felt so alive.
What Beelzebub has inadvertently given him is a gift. The grand, immaculate gift of pain, yearning, need, insatiable want. There's no recording this feeling and confining it to a conch. Lobelia savors the moment as long as it lasts, and then the moment is over. It ends, and Lobelia once again feels nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
And it's nothing that he repays Beelzebub with.
He'll find himself in the loving embrace of two parents who could not be more proud of him.
"Everyone has the right to be happyβ everyone and anyone. That means you too, Lobelia..."
"Use that talent of yours, and youβre guaranteed to be happy! Youβre a genius, son, and youβre certain to succeed! Live a life of bliss, Lobelia!"
But their love cannot teach someone like you to feel all it is they feel for you. Happiness, sadness, anger, hunger. They're all feelings you'll watch others freely express, but none of it is anything you feel anywhere near as keenly.
The death of your own parents brings you joy, elation, pure ecstasy, but those feelings fade no matter how much you listen to their dying screams echo back through the conch. Their voices no longer bring you joy. If anything, you miss their warm embrace, their words of praise, but you'll never hear those things again. You destroyed them.
Your rampage of destruction escalates. You kill tens, hundreds, thousands of people only to experience the most momentary joys before those too are snuffed out. You form a pact with a being whose sole purpose is to wreak destruction. Toppling entire cities in an instant elates you, but you aren't happy.
You'll never be happy.
"I know what happiness is. I had it in my hands. Like a jewel. Oh shade of a man, will you scrabble at me for a mere taste of it?"
Satiation, but only fleetingly. Happiness, fullness, for moments at a time. At the end of the day, perhaps they aren't so different after all?]
WEEK THE LAST - TUESDAY (after meeting)
But he has a promise to keep.
So he goes to hunt down Lobelia with his jacket pockets stuffed with apples. He is already getting very tired of apples... but at least it's a reminder of better times.]
no subject
It comes as something of a surprise when Beelzebub approaches him, Lobelia sat beneath the shade of a tree and whistling a tune on the edge of a leaf. Hm. Considering Beelzebub's... tendencies, Lobelia suspects he's here to pick the apples from the tree, so he simply stands up, dusts himself off, and prepares to vacate.]
Excusez-moi.
no subject
[Oh. Was his timing bad? Hm.]
Hey, no, I... uh...
...
[This is awkward.]
I need to talk to you. If you have a minute.
no subject
...Ah, but of course. We've nothing but time here. How can I help you, Beelzebub?
no subject
...I wanted to come apologize to you.
You were right. My attitude towards you was disgusting and stubborn the other day. It's not going to get us anywhere while we're here.
I can't promise that I'm ever going to trust you. But... you're not my enemy here.
I'm sorry for losing sight of that in my anger. I don't know what's changed you... but you're not the Lobelia I remember.
...
Do you want to leave this place?
no subject
Merci beaucoup... that is to say, thank you, but I can assure you that no apology is necessary. I've earned your ire and then some, have I not?
[Even if he's found his happiness and thus changed his life to revolve around that very thing, Lobelia acted without care for how his choices would make Beelzebub feel. If anything, he should be demanding an apology from him. Still, Lobelia has a pretty good idea of what has inspired this sudden change of heart.]
Even so, I have no intention of remaining in this place. There is someone I've made a promise to, and so long as we remain imprisoned here, I can't uphold my end of our agreement. [...] It's no different for you, is it?
no subject
Mn. You know who's important to me. I'd crawl out of this place with my bare hands for them if this were hell.
If Merlin needs help from us on restoring our bonds... that includes you and I. And if all I'm feeling towards you is anger when everyone else is trying to work towards some kind of truce, then that just makes me a hypocrite.
...
[Another exhale as his gaze narrows slightly.]
I don't forgive you for what you've done and said to me or to the people I love. But I'll put it aside for now, if it means getting all of us out of here.
no subject
[There is nothing to be gained by animosity in this place. Lobelia isn't a man who regrets his actions often enough to offer Beelzebub a genuine apology, but he is someone who will doggedly work towards his goals no matter the cost.
Even if bringing happiness to the one who gave him a reason to exist costs him his life, no part of Lobelia will falter. He won't waver. To that end, he senses he and Beelzebub don't differ one bit.]
Please understand that any apology from me would be a hollow, meaningless thing. In order to get to this point, sacrifices had to be madeβ casualties of my own ambition. If it helps you to better understand, imagine that I'm simply incapable of regretting any decision that furthers my ends.
Still, I believe we can work towards our common goal without issue. If you can put aside your personal feelings and offer me your assistance, I see no issue with offering you the same.