John Dove
Location: End’s Beach
Phase: Evening Phase
Date: 07.09.1994
Weather: Clear Skies
Ah, she really is Miss Iburi. That is, there was no doubt about it, unexplained new look notwithstanding, but…this here, is indeed the person he met on that rainy evening. A good person.
A person he would admire were he capable of it.
Originally Posted by
Subaru Iburi
“---And the only one who can decide what you want, is you yourself, O' Child of Man.”
He cannot look away. Even if she did not hold him, he would not look away. The last time a girl held his face like this, he had sex with that girl. As far as he is aware of, that girl is still alive. She was one of the lucky ones, he guesses.
A need…Miss Iburi is probably right. All this time, he has been driven by a need. To relieve the experience of that night, to meet the person that made everything in the world look bland and colorless by comparison. It was not a wish made by John Dove, but an urge engraved in the foundation of what was left of him after his soul was blasted away into smithereens by her eyes. She is the only one with color, meaning, and value. This was not something decided by John Dove, yet it resides within him and defines him.
He is not in love with Her. Even his admission of Her indescribable beauty is not his own opinion, but a “truth” enforced upon him by his lunacy. At least so he thinks. Whether it is the effect of his madness or a sincere opinion based on his tastes, it does not really matter in the end. It is the only way he can think.
It is not as if he can just go and say it, though. “I looked at the brood of the Black Moon in the eyes, and now the only thing in my heart is She.” Those words will not leave his mouth.
To change is impossible. At least, it feels impossible. Trying to think about “what he wants” only fills him with the memory of that moonlit night, and the urge to bask in that vision of unparalleled beauty. He is rational enough to place “the things he has to do” above that mindless urge, which is what allows him to attend classes and this party instead of chasing after Ubon’s clue like a madman. He can do it because he knows there is nothing at the end of that road. She made it clear enough when they talked, with only the still-warm corpses of Elaine and Ramalsaqr as witnesses. There is nothing he can do for her, and nothing she can do for him.
Therefore, those words have no perceivable effect. Effectively, there is nothing he can give Miss Prushka and Miss Iburi in exchange for their good will and their words of concern. Even if his rational mind acknowledges the things they say, even if he accepts the need to move forward and become a different person…he cannot do anything about the vision of perfection that wrecked his soul.
He is so broken that he is wholly satisfied being broken. However, with the sight of the smiling Subaru Iburi filling his eyes, a part of him cannot help but wonder what she would make him feel if he were a normal person. The lack of an answer brings a curious, unexpected ache in his chest. John feels like he needs to apologize to her, but cannot begin to comprehend why.
“Miss Iburi…I don’t know…no.” He manages to shake his head between the girl’s feeble hold. “I do not think I can be the person you believe I should be, but…”
He smiles, or at least he believes he smiles. The corners of his eyes normally do not itch when he smiles, but he quickly brushes away those unnecessary sensations.
“…if you stay like this you’re going to make me want to kiss you.”
Before she can say or do anything, his hands grab her by her thin waist, pulling her off Prushka’s shoulders and gently back into the water.
“Not to speak ill of Miss Prushka’s strength, but I would rather avoid further risks,” he adds, making sure not to let go of the dark-haired girl until he is sure she is properly floating on her own. “I am not an animal, indeed, and Miss Prushka is not a beast of burden, either.”
It is a strange scene, this one. However, the mental alarm is no longer blaring, and he is no longer wary of a verbal confrontation. He is at ease, just as he has always been when embraced by the ocean waters.
“Thank you, Miss Iburi, Miss Prushka. I…I don’t think those words can change me, but I am glad to hear them from you. I am glad you are the kinds of people who would say such words to someone like me.”
These are, of course, rote words of appreciation. It is only common sense to respond to a positive gesture in like manner. There is no authentic “gladness”. There is no gratitude in his heart. These two girls are still colorless, their faces barely registering in the gray sea of thoughts, illuminated by wicked moonlight.
Nothing has changed. If it were that easy, he would have been “healed” years ago.
However, if only this time, he wants to believe that these would have been the authentic, sincere feelings, actions, and words, of the “real” John Dove.
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