ataraxion | [text, anonymous]

One's memories of home begin to fade. One remembers certain things: the sound of the ocean, and the nighttime city, and a sky that isn't formed from sheet metal. One remembers, perhaps, the path one took to get home. One might remember the tune of one's favorite song. But the finer details slip away. You know this place far better. The ship may be a mystery; it may shift without logic or reason; yet by this point is easier to grasp than our homes. We know the number of paces to get to side of the room to the other. We know the feeling of waking up from the Jump. We can't even hear the engines any longer because we know the sound too well. We can't remember the faces of our parents or our siblings, but we can summon the taste of those protein packs without any effort. Is that why we continue on? Do we want to get back there? Do we want to see the sky again, walk the rooms of the homes we chose instead of the home we were forced to? Some might say yes, but there will be no real pleasure to it; when we wake up, if we wake up, it will be like any other day. Do we want to return to the good works we left behind? That's a fallacy, though, because there's evidence enough that everything continued on without us, uninterrupted. Time either froze, or time never missed us at all. Things progress as though we were there. When I go back, I will turn into someone despicable. I've learned that from others. I'll forget everything I learned here, and I will bloody my hands. I will become a wretched man. And as soon as I arrive there, as soon as we're freed, that's where my life will begin again. I've spent a long time trying to determine what unites us all. Perhaps it's a single, defining character trait: we're all brought here because we are irrational survivors. Because in spite of the fact that there is nothing for us here save dreary suffering, and in spite of the fact that whether we return home or not all things will be the same, we continue on. Against reason, against logic, we continue to struggle - for the sake of the memories slipping away from us, or for the sake of some absurd misplaced sense of duty, or for the sake of simple habit. So. Why do you keep on?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He starts to protest that, vehemently - but then the timeline works itself out in his head, Lupin's anger at Sirius, and -

God. Yes. By Lupin's time, Sirius is already imprisoned. He must be. By the time Lupin comes here, Sirius has met his own monstrous fate - has been accused of that crime, of the murder of his best friend.

How can they not all succumb to despair? With all of that?]

Forgive me. I assumed.

It's fine. [ "Fine." ] It's a fair assumption.

[ But now that Edgeworth has him thinking about his friends: ]

You shouldn't lose hope because of what others tell you you'll be. They might not know what they think they know.

[He still feels monstrous, and wants to apologize further. Instead, he just turns to the other matter - ]

I have seen records of what I do in the future. And those things I do are quite terrible. There is no ambiguity to that.

Records here? Do you trust them?

Even if everything happens the way you think it will, you don't sound terrible yet. You can do good while you have the chance. Maybe it will balance out.

The world doesn't work like that. Even if the good I did here had any effect whatsoever - which it won't - what I do at home won't simply be wiped clean. The people who lose their lives because of me won't have them returned merely because I'm a little kinder here.

Edited 2014-06-09 22:12 (UTC)

So be a lot kinder.

[ Unnecessarily flippant, because he is 22, but quickly followed up. ]

Is the problem that you think nothing you can do anywhere will redeem you, or that nothing you can do on this ship will?

[A long pause.]

I don't believe in redemption at all. But even if I did, and even if I had a very gentle and forgiving conception of the world, I would condemn what I end up doing. There is no forgiving crimes of that magnitude.

That's hard for me to understand. You don't believe anyone can make amends for anything?

Do you know why you'll do whatever it is you believe you'll do?

[He doesn't answer that first question; it's too...fraught. As for the second - ]

I will believe that I'm doing the right thing.

Maybe you will be.

I'll abuse my power to have innocent people killed.

I don't know enough to try to persuade you that it may not be that simple, but you really don't seem like the sort.

You only have this to go by. You do not know how I really am.

That's true. You might only be pretending to have scruples.

Hardly pretending. There's not even anything in here that's scrupulous, if you will allow me to use the word in an etymological sense.

If you must.

[ You are very frustrating to try to comfort, anonymous sad person. ]

I thank you for your desire to argue against this; that is quite kind. But there is no getting around this. I will be wretched, and I will ruin people just for my own pleasure.