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— 𝐜 𝐨 𝐧 𝐭 𝐚 𝐜 𝐭
NOTE: I am forever backtag friendly and absolutely open to doing things from past events that won't really have an effect on things at any given time. For example, if you'd like to do something with Peter aged down or when he was his spider dream guide, etc.
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Deep down is the weight of knowledge that they are all dead and he has no one left. But it's layered in the fog of his unstable mindset, his strange memories, of the dark thing within him. Perhaps it was all a nightmare. Just some bad, awful dream. He doesn't know. Perhaps he'll never know.
Peter slowly stops eating, eyes drifting down to look at Diarmuid's robes, quiet and calm and thinking through the odd ache in his chest as he listens to the other boy speak of his aches.
He's sitting here having lunch with someone kind, and he'd like to forget about the dark things for awhile, but he... can't. He can't. Even now as he's sitting here, he feels an odd shudder just there under his skin, one that makes him shift uncomfortably. Like a reminder that all of this is going to be short-lived. ]
If you're from a monastery, you.... you believe in God? Is that the kind of monk you are?
[ A beat, before he adds: ] Can you tell if someone's evil?
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... I do, yes. I believe in God. But — I'm not sure if evil is something anyone can truly measure. I try... to keep those things in the hands of God. To let Him say what is and isn't evil, because... humanity is a flawed creation, the kind that could misunderstand. The kind of creation that can be wrong. About what is and isn't evil.
[A held breath, as he dwells upon the words spoken to him, last he was in his world.]
If I may be honest, I had spent some time concerned if I had something evil in me. If my choices were actually the work of someone tainted by the Devil himself — and that I was ruined. [Glancing up, he considers the question, or rather, the reason for it.] Do you think you're evil?
no subject
'If I may be honest, I had spent some time concerned if I had something evil in me. If my choices were actually the work of someone tainted by the Devil himself — and that I was ruined.'
Peter can't hide the way his eyes widen and his breath hitches slightly, certain pieces of that... ringing very true for him. Uncomfortably so, but it's somehow relieving at the same time. Like... he's not crazy. And this is a chance to talk to someone who has... religious experience and insight.
The question has him pause, unexpected. It's a question that he's... wondered maybe, deep down, after everything that's happened and what he's been going through. But he hasn't ever directly addressed it like this. A tremour flutters through him, manifesting into his fingers, making them shake slightly. His fork clinks against the plate, and he sets it down so he won't drop it. ]
...I don't know. [ Spoken softly. An honest answer, but not... too honest. He's still afraid to voice it in more detail. ] I think maybe there's something... bad about me. [ His eyes dart away, suddenly apprehensive. ]
In your beliefs, if someone does something wrong — like really, really horrible wrong... does it open them up to be influenced by bad things? Like... kind of like karma, I guess. Creating bad energy? Does that make sense?
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I think... it can influence someone. I think the more bad that one does, the harder it can be to... to return to a better path. And certainly, I think there could be energies at work that make choices more difficult. But — I have to believe that no matter how much evil one may have inside them, or how much bad they do, that there is always a chance for redemption.
... My friend in my world, he had left a long road of bloodshed in his past; he killed people, hurt so many... but he repented. He wanted to make up for his errors in life. He served our monastery faithfully. And if he had not been there for me, I would have died.
[He puts a hand on Peter's arm, slowly, carefully.]
It does not matter what you are, what you're afflicted with.
It only matters what you do with it now.
no subject
The hand against his arm is unexpected — as all touch is. Peter's like an open wound, even the slightest brush against him aches, but he doesn't flinch back. Not from Diarmuid. Instead, he feels, for the first time in a while, not quite so alone. It's harrowing, in a way, that realisation, something twisting in his chest. He tilts his head forwards, chin dipped downwards, giving a soft, slightly shaky exhale.
There's a lot.. a lot of questions. A lot to say. Too much; Peter's overwhelmed by it. Not quite ready to dip into those things yet. But... just this much alone has done something for him. He nods his head softly, a wordless reply to all that he's been told. A "thank you" is barely voiced, eyes unable to meet the boy's, almost as though submissive to him — then he repeats it, a bit louder this time, so Diarmuid can actually hear it. ]
Thank you.
no subject
[He smiles in turn, a warm and kind sort of smile, the kind that leaves little room for doubt that he's fond of the other teenager; Peter's a good person, he thinks. Whatever nightmares plague his history, Diarmuid is confident in what he sees in the other boy. He gives Peter's arm one more squeeze.]
Shall we enjoy lunch?