"Well, everyone who comes off the boat has to choose one, because we're doing it to help people here, by, er- well, by filling jobs they don't have the people for. Not everyone here would have the training, th-the education required to do something as complex as chemistry like Sally has, or- or the stamina required for farming or fishing."
He moves towards the small kitchen, indicating for Yellow to follow. "But it's also quite normal in this time, for children to follow their parents into whatever field they're employed in. Farmers raise more farmers, tailors raise tailors, sort of thing. It's only very recently that people can choose not to do that, and pursue whatever they want to do for work."
One of those prickly bursts of bad feelings goes off in his chest, but he follows. He doesn't know what the bad feelings are for--nothing Arthur is saying. It's confusing.
"So... do I get Sally to teach me, or is she going to teach Gwen? Or can I do what I want?"
And Arthur looks at Yellow curiously for a moment, as he goes to fuss with his stove.
"Well, it certainly won't be Gwen for a while, she's far too young to be playing with chemicals like those, she probably won't be allowed to for another ten years or so, at minimum." And that was if Sally would choose to teach her, regardless. "But you'd certainly be able to ask her to teach you, if you want to pursue medicine. It's certainly an incredibly valuable skill."
"You did, a-and- thank you, for it. I appreciate it."
Even if the only time Yellow actually heard him play was the moments before he arrived here...
"But- still. Learning how you're healing what you are, what- bones or muscles you're fixing, what medicine they need for any infections or poisons - hell, even their blood type. That's all important knowledge for humans, when we can't simply wish wounds away like that."
He doesn't particularly like the idea, and it takes him a moment to articulate why.
"I don't. Enjoy it. When people are hurt. I don't like what happens when they're in pain. I would have to be around people in pain to learn what I'd need to know, and I would have to... to choose not to help, the way I already know I can. I don't want to."
With the stove on, he grabs the kettle to fill, and gives Yellow a sympathetic look.
"I know how that feels, actually. Seeing someone in pain, not being sure what you can do to help. That's part of why I was a private investigator, actually."
He places the kettle down, watching the stovetop sizzle faintly at the water droplets on its outside. "Being able to reduce someone's pain, in whatever way you can... I think there's something noble in it."
"Y... Yeah." There's an edge of guilt to the syllable. That's definitely what he meant, and not that being around people in pain makes him imagine the things that the King in Yellow could do, did do. It makes his spirit creep with the knowledge of how to cause more pain and the temptation to do it just to see. Just to see if and how it works. Now, just like every time, he wants to take himself somewhere far away from Gwen and Sally and Dogbear and everyone, fucking everyone else.
"That would be noble." That much is true. Like telling the people in the bar about blood in the snow was noble.
There's a lot he could ask and even more he wants to know and the crowd of questions briefly paralyzes him. Then he realizes there's only one that's really significant. It's the one that solves all the others.
He asked. That doesn't mean Arthur knows how to answer.
"Maybe... because you're here, instead, that means you're different, now. That whenever we leave this place, you'll be able to do something else. Find a path that doesn't lead you falling directly into Larson's lap."
"He used you. Made you do all the hard work of- I-I don't know, summoning servants, dragging items across realities, o-or making them. Using you to kill people, and show off the power Larson had, the control he had over you."
He finds a couple of mugs. "But it was killing you. Killing you both, actually. Every time you projected out of him it drained Larson more, and when he used your magic, like a fucking battery, you were weaker. You weren't meant to be contained by him."
Once again, he is overwhelmed by the So Much Ness of all that. There's so much information in that brief description, and so much of it is awful. But he wants to know, too, he wants to know how to summon servants and drag items across realities or make them. He wants to learn. The look on his face as Arthur describes those things is fascinated, almost eager, but that gets quickly crowded out by the idea of being destroyed by a human prison who uses him like a battery.
"So what was his plan? He had to know that, didn't he?"
Well, at least that one's easy. "He used you to construct a machine. One with the ability to truly separate John and I. And also probably the both of you, as well." He's not looking at Yellow, mostly because he's scrounging for his tea. "He wanted to join the King back together, and be rewarded for it."
"...He wanted to kill John?" And Yellow himself, he realizes. Kill them both and bring back the thing they were, a thing that had no problem smashing peoples' heads in or torturing Arthur or ripping John away from him in the first place.
"Why did he think the King would reward him?" It seems so incredibly stupid to assume that.
"Because for as intelligent as he thinks he is," he comments with venomous flatness, "he still worships beings like that. He had convinced himself that the King would care about his loyalty and assistance, and that he'd be seen as a hero for helping put him back together."
"The King would destroy him for having used his own weakness like that," Yellow says, voice low but absolute. He doesn't want to think about how he can say that and just... know he's right.
He goes quiet as he watches Arthur deal with his tea.
"It's... a long story. But the crux of it is that- John and I brought someone with us, to help us. A man that the King in Yellow had tortured for years, to get information out of that he didn't have. You..."
He pauses, and sighs briefly. "The Yellow there got inside his mind, and- made him throw himself off a high floor, that would have killed him when he landed. John and I managed to save him, but Larson shot him. I nearly killed Larson for it, but then Kayne showed up, and he..."
He still hates the memory of it, of the wet shatter of glass. "Ripped Larson's eyes out, and threw him and Yellow into the Dreamlands. I haven't seen any of them since."
That must be what John meant when he said Yellow tried to kill his friend. Yellow gets that far in connecting the dots, then Arthur gets to eyeball ripping. His thoughts pile up around the roadblock of thrown into the Dreamlands.
Only half paying attention to his own words: "He took from Larson what you gave up. When you proved you cared more about John than your sight. What Larson wasn't willing to part with, even temporarily, even if it meant I wouldn't rot him from the inside out."
Something about the kettle coming slowly to a head as Yellow sounds out his own thoughts feels oddly poetic, as Arthur removes it from the heat before it becomes a truly awful screech.
"John took my eyes, to begin with," he says. "But along our travels, he earned the right to... to keep them, I suppose. We didn't want to be separated. I relied on him as much as he relied on me." He can't dare say 'perhaps more so' out loud, but it felt like it some days.
"Larson... has never sacrificed anything of himself. He'd never be so... vulnerable. He'd never let himself get hurt in pursuit of his power, not in a way where he loses out for it."
"No," Yellow says quietly. "Neither would the King."
That's an odd parallel, one that makes him uncomfortable, but he can't help thinking it's right. The same way he thinks the King would have killed Larson or worse as a reward for putting him back together.
"...Cr... Crichton wants me to help him with some pages from a book, one that's about N-- Carmichael. Or from him. I'm not sure. Uh, Crichton is a- a friend."
He gives a soft smile, as he offers Yellow one of the cups of tea. "I've met Crichton. He's a good man. And a good friend."
He wonders if he's a better one than Arthur deserves, but the way he described how he and that other Arthur hurt each other before, he can't be blind to the fact. Perhaps he simply doesn't care. It's an odd feeling.
"He told me that you two wanted to read the Necronomicon pages," he adds, and he leans against the counter with his cup in both hands. "I told him it was dangerous, that neither of you fully understand what you might be reading. John tried reading it once, and it... hurt me, to hear those words. Something about them isn't meant for mortal minds to know. But I don't know if you would be unaffected, either."
He starts to take the tea, realizes he's still entirely tentacled, and melts smoothly from one comfortable shape into the other. Shadows shed off his human form like smoke.
Yellow watches Arthur with uncertainty as he accepts the cup. "But- How do we fix anything if we don't use what we find?"
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lestercraft) wrote2024-11-29 01:38 pm
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But now he's thinking about jobs. Max's bakery and Sally's shop and FarmJohn's farm itself probably counts too.
"How did you choose? Or did someone decide on your job for you?"
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He moves towards the small kitchen, indicating for Yellow to follow. "But it's also quite normal in this time, for children to follow their parents into whatever field they're employed in. Farmers raise more farmers, tailors raise tailors, sort of thing. It's only very recently that people can choose not to do that, and pursue whatever they want to do for work."
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"So... do I get Sally to teach me, or is she going to teach Gwen? Or can I do what I want?"
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"Well, it certainly won't be Gwen for a while, she's far too young to be playing with chemicals like those, she probably won't be allowed to for another ten years or so, at minimum." And that was if Sally would choose to teach her, regardless. "But you'd certainly be able to ask her to teach you, if you want to pursue medicine. It's certainly an incredibly valuable skill."
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And Gwen was here first, even if he's older on a technicality. She should get to choose first.
A pause while he tries to guess what Arthur is doing.
"...You're good at piano. I said you were good at it."
In case you missed that Arthur he wants to make sure you know he said so.
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Even if the only time Yellow actually heard him play was the moments before he arrived here...
"But- still. Learning how you're healing what you are, what- bones or muscles you're fixing, what medicine they need for any infections or poisons - hell, even their blood type. That's all important knowledge for humans, when we can't simply wish wounds away like that."
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He doesn't particularly like the idea, and it takes him a moment to articulate why.
"I don't. Enjoy it. When people are hurt. I don't like what happens when they're in pain. I would have to be around people in pain to learn what I'd need to know, and I would have to... to choose not to help, the way I already know I can. I don't want to."
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"I know how that feels, actually. Seeing someone in pain, not being sure what you can do to help. That's part of why I was a private investigator, actually."
He places the kettle down, watching the stovetop sizzle faintly at the water droplets on its outside. "Being able to reduce someone's pain, in whatever way you can... I think there's something noble in it."
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"That would be noble." That much is true. Like telling the people in the bar about blood in the snow was noble.
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"How do I keep it from happening?"
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He asked. That doesn't mean Arthur knows how to answer.
"Maybe... because you're here, instead, that means you're different, now. That whenever we leave this place, you'll be able to do something else. Find a path that doesn't lead you falling directly into Larson's lap."
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He wants to stay here still. Or go with Sally and Gwen. Or... almost any other possibility, if he's honest.
"What did you mean that he- he used me like a mule?"
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"He used you. Made you do all the hard work of- I-I don't know, summoning servants, dragging items across realities, o-or making them. Using you to kill people, and show off the power Larson had, the control he had over you."
He finds a couple of mugs. "But it was killing you. Killing you both, actually. Every time you projected out of him it drained Larson more, and when he used your magic, like a fucking battery, you were weaker. You weren't meant to be contained by him."
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"So what was his plan? He had to know that, didn't he?"
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He grimaces. "To become a god in his own right."
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"Why did he think the King would reward him?" It seems so incredibly stupid to assume that.
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He goes quiet as he watches Arthur deal with his tea.
"...What happened to us? To me and Larson."
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"It's... a long story. But the crux of it is that- John and I brought someone with us, to help us. A man that the King in Yellow had tortured for years, to get information out of that he didn't have. You..."
He pauses, and sighs briefly. "The Yellow there got inside his mind, and- made him throw himself off a high floor, that would have killed him when he landed. John and I managed to save him, but Larson shot him. I nearly killed Larson for it, but then Kayne showed up, and he..."
He still hates the memory of it, of the wet shatter of glass. "Ripped Larson's eyes out, and threw him and Yellow into the Dreamlands. I haven't seen any of them since."
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Only half paying attention to his own words: "He took from Larson what you gave up. When you proved you cared more about John than your sight. What Larson wasn't willing to part with, even temporarily, even if it meant I wouldn't rot him from the inside out."
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"John took my eyes, to begin with," he says. "But along our travels, he earned the right to... to keep them, I suppose. We didn't want to be separated. I relied on him as much as he relied on me." He can't dare say 'perhaps more so' out loud, but it felt like it some days.
"Larson... has never sacrificed anything of himself. He'd never be so... vulnerable. He'd never let himself get hurt in pursuit of his power, not in a way where he loses out for it."
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That's an odd parallel, one that makes him uncomfortable, but he can't help thinking it's right. The same way he thinks the King would have killed Larson or worse as a reward for putting him back together.
"...Cr... Crichton wants me to help him with some pages from a book, one that's about N-- Carmichael. Or from him. I'm not sure. Uh, Crichton is a- a friend."
He sounds baffled by the last word.
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He wonders if he's a better one than Arthur deserves, but the way he described how he and that other Arthur hurt each other before, he can't be blind to the fact. Perhaps he simply doesn't care. It's an odd feeling.
"He told me that you two wanted to read the Necronomicon pages," he adds, and he leans against the counter with his cup in both hands. "I told him it was dangerous, that neither of you fully understand what you might be reading. John tried reading it once, and it... hurt me, to hear those words. Something about them isn't meant for mortal minds to know. But I don't know if you would be unaffected, either."
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Yellow watches Arthur with uncertainty as he accepts the cup. "But- How do we fix anything if we don't use what we find?"
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