Diarmuid watches him carefully, blood on his face, nail marks on his neck, and he looks... calm. Careful. He watches Paimon for any glimmer of his friend Peter, and when he still sees the confused entity there, he faces him without hesitation. His robe's sleeves hang long on him, the monk uniform giving an illusion that he's bigger than he truly is. The skinny, scarred teenager underneath does not match his resolve.
The question leaves him quiet a moment, as the holy relic sits in his room. The sound of a bell rings around them, echoes in the treetops. The sound had told him he would be protected and lead, once upon a time. He will try to believe the same here. He shakes his head, and does not look away from Paimon.
"... I am but a human. A very tired and very thirsty human who wishes to have tea with his friend, Peter. The lamb politely asks to see him.")
He has made a slight mistake, then, assuming that Peter had vanished once more.
After a moment, Diarmuid holds his hands up, placating.]
Be still, Peter, you β he did not harm me. [But he doesn't want to be completely dishonest; he has never been dishonest, not even in the face of cruelty, or even if it would benefit the moment at hand. He had... not told Peter about what had happened, but Peter β he did not remember, and he did not ask, and it was enough.] The worst he had done was grab my neck; I had been the one to β to cut myself.
( They're scrambled up, apparently sometimes capable of being present at the same time now... which is new and admittedly pretty horrifying! Peter's still coming down off of the strange state he's been in, still having to remember who he really is, much less untangle the complications of who else is inside of him. But somehow... this is helping. He doesn't have to try to remember who, what, Paimon is β Diarmuid's words touch his emotions and help his mind just know. Retrieving the information that's tucked inside of him.
There's something else living inside of him, something that's been living inside of him for years now. It's very strange and lost. Like a child sometimes. Like something much worse than that, others.
It's hurt people before β people Peter loves. Grabbing his neck is bad enough, but... Diarmuid cut himself?! Why.... Peter's ogling his precious friend with fear and horror, not understanding the truth of it all, what could have led to that...
...but Paimon's slowly remembering the severity of it. That's right, he'd... been in a strange haze during that October, seeking to spill blood... to sacrifice others. But the monk... he'd had this relic then, too. And something else β something protecting him, on his person. There had been a respect for that, despite Paimon's aversion to it. (And the monk had held his face like Luna does, and the demon had wanted to please the holy boy.)
....Abruptly, his venom dies down again. Like a switch gone off, the demon changes. )
.....I am... sorry. Diarmed.
( That's... almost his name. Peter's hands lift β though it's not Peter lifting them β and slowly reach up towards Diarmuid's face, hovering in the air, gentle again now. He'd had his shitfit about the relic, said some nasty things to Diarmuid about God, snapped at him..... but ultimately, he'd been Tamed by this good monk, and he's remembering that now. )
... For being your lamb, you have a difficult time remembering how to speak my name.
It's Diarmuid.
[He sounds more quietly exasperated than anything, his shoulders slumping a bit where he stands. He's chilled to the bone, skin toned nearly bleached-bone in its temperature, but he's rather firm where he stands. He need not move to push away the being's hands, but he does say:]
I am not your lamb, though. I can be a friend, perhaps.
... Who are you? What are you? How did you come to be within Peter?
( He whispers, hushed. Poor Diarmuid doesn't deserve a single ounce of all this abrupt, exhausting mood-shifting when he's only just woken from his squid state. And he certainly doesn't deserve the demon hands that are reaching for him like moments ago on the sand, slowly moving up towards his face. This time Paimon only barely touches, palms grazing the sides of the boy's head, like he's trying to pat him and examine him in one, and it's some strange, stiff gesture.
Friend? Diadremieuid could be his friend? He tilts his head at the questions. What is he? Why is he here? He opens his mouth to answer, andβ )
Don't touch him!( ...Ah, Peter's back and he snatches his hands away from Diarmuid, eyes wide. They haven't resolved the whole attempted sacrifice thing and he's not going to let this creepycrawly thing get any closer. ) He's my friend, you keep the fuck away from him!
( Boys... he can be both of your friend..... After a tense moment, a second voice slips past Peter's, stiff and strange as the demon speaks again, some rare and cursed snippet of a conversation held out loud. )
I will not harm him.......
Shut up! You wanted toβ 'spill his blood!' You could've killed him!
I.... do not remember why...
Shut up! Diarmuidβ ( Peter suddenly looks up at his friend again with a desperation. ) βjust ignore him. You don't have to talk to him. Butβ why... why did you cut yourself? ( His voice breaks a little, concerned, afraid for his friend, all of the emotions he feels towards him flooding in. If anything ever happened to Diarmuid.... he couldn't stand it. )
This is all madness, but it's madness Diarmuid is intimately in-tune with. Is that a bad thing, to be fully prepared for this? It surely must be, but here he is, staring down a friend who is possessed by a demonic spirit that wants to touch his face. It has already been a long day, and he is but twenty minutes into the day, if even that long.
But then Peter looks at him so urgently and tinged with such desperation, and he finds himself at a truer loss for words. Why did he...? He struggles with the memories that are muddied in his head, glancing away toward the ocean for a moment as he combs for the exact explanations. Yes... yes, Peter had been there... Paimon, sorry. Paimon first. Peter later. And... There had been... something happening... ]
... I don't... remember very well. I'm sorry, Peter.
I'm sure it β it wasn't because I wanted to die. I've always fought to live in my days there. I wouldn't have done such a thing, not to you or Luna or any of my friends. You believe that, don't you?
I think it was an outside force. It's always an outside force.
Edited (SAME ICON IN A ROW??? NEVER!) 2021-10-17 22:14 (UTC)
cw: suicide discussion, brief mention of suicidal ideation
( It's not something Peter would ask about, usually. If he were in his usual state of mind, cautious and careful about asking too much, about approaching things that might be too hurtful, painful. But here he stands, emotions so intensely heightened by the strangeness of this fresh rebirth, and too many voices within himself remembering how to speak again β speaking over each other, and all the memories flooding to the surface....
....Though perhaps it's ultimately a... good thing...? That some of this is getting said? Even if this isn't how he'd ever usually go about it. Even if the expression on his friend's face hurts deeply, and Peter's own expression crumbles as he listens to him. An outside force... that's right, he remembers that too, now. Deerington did that to them all, a lot. Whatever happened, it was maybe because of the town, targeting Diarmuid.
But the subject still wounds him in a very particular way, one that flickers in him like a quiet light. He suddenly remembers that he knows what it is to feel like you want to die. And the relief that it hadn't been like that for Diarmuid in this instanceβ Peter gives a loud, shaky exhale. )
No, Iβ I believe you. I remember now, too. How that place.... did things like that to people. I'm sorry, Diarmuid. Whatever happened to you.... I'm really sorry.
...And I'm sorry Iβ he was involved. I remember... wanting to protect you from him, so badly. I wish I'd been able to. I'm so sorry.
( He remembers that he couldn't even tell Diarmuid about the demon for the longest time. That he'd been so afraid to lose him as a friend. )
You needn't apologize, Peter. It wasn't you. And if you are to blame for not protecting me from him, then I am to blame for not protecting you from him, too.
... If anything, the being trapped inside you should be the one apologizing to me.
He was terribly rude to do that.
[He says it, of course, like Paimon had just said some unflattering comment to him and hadn't been prepared to sacrifice him in the woods. Such is the way of things, when you live in Deerington. Trench now, it seems.
( 'Terribly rude' is definitelyβ an understatement, but it seems so distinctly Diarmuid to say something like that, that Peter actually breathes out a sound that halfway sounds like a laugh. The other half sounds like something upset, and he swallows a little bit after. )
He was. It wasβ really, really rude.
( It's only just now dawning in him that the thing had slipped from him so easily mere moments ago, not having to force its way out like usual, but.. more free. Speaking a breath after him, capable of that kind of control. Peter curls his fingers in for a minute, lets his nails pinch the palms of his skin. Some silent way to keep ahold of himself, maybe. )
I'mβ I'm okay. But you... god, you've got to be freezing. ( Peter looks around, spies another robe lying in the sand not far away, probably dropped by one of the people helping. He moves to it, takes it and then spreads it out over Diarmuid's shoulders. )
Here. Let'sβ we can go find you some food or something, if you want? Or somewhere you can sit down and rest...
[Ah...! He hadn't really noticed, but he's shivering now. Getting used to being human again is quite a feat, and as he moves to take a few steps to follow Peter, his legs wobble a bit under him. Sorry if he uses your arm for balance at the moment, a chara.]
That β yes! Yes, I'm a little cold...!
[Pulling the robes tighter around him, he offers an almost apologetic smile, as if he were feeling a little guilty that the other had to help care for him even a little. As is his way.]
I think... resting would be good. Food! Oh, how strange everything feels right now.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
("The essence coming from your home... Are you truly a... mere human?"
Diarmuid watches him carefully, blood on his face, nail marks on his neck, and he looks... calm. Careful. He watches Paimon for any glimmer of his friend Peter, and when he still sees the confused entity there, he faces him without hesitation. His robe's sleeves hang long on him, the monk uniform giving an illusion that he's bigger than he truly is. The skinny, scarred teenager underneath does not match his resolve.
The question leaves him quiet a moment, as the holy relic sits in his room. The sound of a bell rings around them, echoes in the treetops. The sound had told him he would be protected and lead, once upon a time. He will try to believe the same here. He shakes his head, and does not look away from Paimon.
"... I am but a human. A very tired and very thirsty human who wishes to have tea with his friend, Peter. The lamb politely asks to see him.")
He has made a slight mistake, then, assuming that Peter had vanished once more.
After a moment, Diarmuid holds his hands up, placating.]
Be still, Peter, you β he did not harm me. [But he doesn't want to be completely dishonest; he has never been dishonest, not even in the face of cruelty, or even if it would benefit the moment at hand. He had... not told Peter about what had happened, but Peter β he did not remember, and he did not ask, and it was enough.] The worst he had done was grab my neck; I had been the one to β to cut myself.
no subject
There's something else living inside of him, something that's been living inside of him for years now. It's very strange and lost. Like a child sometimes. Like something much worse than that, others.
It's hurt people before β people Peter loves. Grabbing his neck is bad enough, but... Diarmuid cut himself?! Why.... Peter's ogling his precious friend with fear and horror, not understanding the truth of it all, what could have led to that...
...but Paimon's slowly remembering the severity of it. That's right, he'd... been in a strange haze during that October, seeking to spill blood... to sacrifice others. But the monk... he'd had this relic then, too. And something else β something protecting him, on his person. There had been a respect for that, despite Paimon's aversion to it. (And the monk had held his face like Luna does, and the demon had wanted to please the holy boy.)
....Abruptly, his venom dies down again. Like a switch gone off, the demon changes. )
.....I am... sorry. Diarmed.
( That's... almost his name. Peter's hands lift β though it's not Peter lifting them β and slowly reach up towards Diarmuid's face, hovering in the air, gentle again now. He'd had his shitfit about the relic, said some nasty things to Diarmuid about God, snapped at him..... but ultimately, he'd been Tamed by this good monk, and he's remembering that now. )
I had..... forgotten. You are... my lamb.
( .....That's not creepy at all. )
no subject
It's Diarmuid.
[He sounds more quietly exasperated than anything, his shoulders slumping a bit where he stands. He's chilled to the bone, skin toned nearly bleached-bone in its temperature, but he's rather firm where he stands. He need not move to push away the being's hands, but he does say:]
I am not your lamb, though. I can be a friend, perhaps.
... Who are you? What are you? How did you come to be within Peter?
no subject
( He whispers, hushed. Poor Diarmuid doesn't deserve a single ounce of all this abrupt, exhausting mood-shifting when he's only just woken from his squid state. And he certainly doesn't deserve the demon hands that are reaching for him like moments ago on the sand, slowly moving up towards his face. This time Paimon only barely touches, palms grazing the sides of the boy's head, like he's trying to pat him and examine him in one, and it's some strange, stiff gesture.
Friend? Diadremieuid could be his friend? He tilts his head at the questions. What is he? Why is he here? He opens his mouth to answer, andβ )
Don't touch him! ( ...Ah, Peter's back and he snatches his hands away from Diarmuid, eyes wide. They haven't resolved the whole attempted sacrifice thing and he's not going to let this creepycrawly thing get any closer. ) He's my friend, you keep the fuck away from him!
( Boys... he can be both of your friend..... After a tense moment, a second voice slips past Peter's, stiff and strange as the demon speaks again, some rare and cursed snippet of a conversation held out loud. )
I will not harm him.......
Shut up! You wanted toβ 'spill his blood!' You could've killed him!
I.... do not remember why...
Shut up! Diarmuidβ ( Peter suddenly looks up at his friend again with a desperation. ) βjust ignore him. You don't have to talk to him. Butβ why... why did you cut yourself? ( His voice breaks a little, concerned, afraid for his friend, all of the emotions he feels towards him flooding in. If anything ever happened to Diarmuid.... he couldn't stand it. )
cw: suicide discussion
This is all madness, but it's madness Diarmuid is intimately in-tune with. Is that a bad thing, to be fully prepared for this? It surely must be, but here he is, staring down a friend who is possessed by a demonic spirit that wants to touch his face. It has already been a long day, and he is but twenty minutes into the day, if even that long.
But then Peter looks at him so urgently and tinged with such desperation, and he finds himself at a truer loss for words. Why did he...? He struggles with the memories that are muddied in his head, glancing away toward the ocean for a moment as he combs for the exact explanations. Yes... yes, Peter had been there... Paimon, sorry. Paimon first. Peter later. And... There had been... something happening... ]
... I don't... remember very well. I'm sorry, Peter.
I'm sure it β it wasn't because I wanted to die. I've always fought to live in my days there. I wouldn't have done such a thing, not to you or Luna or any of my friends. You believe that, don't you?
I think it was an outside force. It's always an outside force.
cw: suicide discussion, brief mention of suicidal ideation
....Though perhaps it's ultimately a... good thing...? That some of this is getting said? Even if this isn't how he'd ever usually go about it. Even if the expression on his friend's face hurts deeply, and Peter's own expression crumbles as he listens to him. An outside force... that's right, he remembers that too, now. Deerington did that to them all, a lot. Whatever happened, it was maybe because of the town, targeting Diarmuid.
But the subject still wounds him in a very particular way, one that flickers in him like a quiet light. He suddenly remembers that he knows what it is to feel like you want to die. And the relief that it hadn't been like that for Diarmuid in this instanceβ Peter gives a loud, shaky exhale. )
No, Iβ I believe you. I remember now, too. How that place.... did things like that to people. I'm sorry, Diarmuid. Whatever happened to you.... I'm really sorry.
...And I'm sorry Iβ he was involved. I remember... wanting to protect you from him, so badly. I wish I'd been able to. I'm so sorry.
( He remembers that he couldn't even tell Diarmuid about the demon for the longest time. That he'd been so afraid to lose him as a friend. )
no subject
You needn't apologize, Peter. It wasn't you. And if you are to blame for not protecting me from him, then I am to blame for not protecting you from him, too.
... If anything, the being trapped inside you should be the one apologizing to me.
He was terribly rude to do that.
[He says it, of course, like Paimon had just said some unflattering comment to him and hadn't been prepared to sacrifice him in the woods. Such is the way of things, when you live in Deerington. Trench now, it seems.
The chilled boy sighs.]
Are you alright now?
It has been a taxing day, I think.
no subject
He was. It wasβ really, really rude.
( It's only just now dawning in him that the thing had slipped from him so easily mere moments ago, not having to force its way out like usual, but.. more free. Speaking a breath after him, capable of that kind of control. Peter curls his fingers in for a minute, lets his nails pinch the palms of his skin. Some silent way to keep ahold of himself, maybe. )
I'mβ I'm okay. But you... god, you've got to be freezing. ( Peter looks around, spies another robe lying in the sand not far away, probably dropped by one of the people helping. He moves to it, takes it and then spreads it out over Diarmuid's shoulders. )
Here. Let'sβ we can go find you some food or something, if you want? Or somewhere you can sit down and rest...
( His turn to take care of Diarmuid, for a bit. )
no subject
That β yes! Yes, I'm a little cold...!
[Pulling the robes tighter around him, he offers an almost apologetic smile, as if he were feeling a little guilty that the other had to help care for him even a little. As is his way.]
I think... resting would be good. Food! Oh, how strange everything feels right now.