[ Kaspar can tell there is more still, in the tension and restraint, but he wouldn't begin to know how to ask without conflict. The urge is there, to press him out of curiosity and a want to understand him. Van Zieks presenting a question derails any contemplation of his own.
He does not tense at the thought of his brothers, older and younger. They all looked so much like their mother. Subtle listlessness instead of tension creates distance instead of comfort with his relaxed yet harder to read silence.
There were good memories too, of course, just enough that he could never truly dismiss ot hate them. No matter their criticisms or effective disownment. When was the last letter he'd sent? It'd been even longer since he'd gotten one in return from any of then. He makes no habit of dwelling on them, for he doubts they care much about his absence.
A pause, weakened by the talk of brothers with someone he trusts more than anyone back home. He states it simply, a little too calm. ]
... they do not see the world as I do, I'm afraid.
[And this is exactly why he knows he was lucky to have Klint. Even if, in the end, Klint went down a path that Barok couldn't follow, their goals had been the same. To the end, Klint had supported him, understood him, loved him. Wanted the best for him. Even if what he thought was best wasn't quite right.
He sighs.]
I'm sorry to hear that.
[He pauses a moment, hesitant to pry, but ultimately too curious not to.]
How, exactly, would you say you see the world, Kaspar?
[ Kaspar's distance is short lived. The present has always taken precedence and what works even better is a question that he has an answer for. It is easy to leave the worst memories untouched, lest he remember the physical pain of fighting too. It is the whiplash maybe, or the company, or the lack of tea in his cup. He's not concerned with the impulse to speak freely.
As subtle as a flower leaning for the sun, his warmth returns-- ]
The world seems an imperfect place, just as its people. I believe, there is beauty in that.
[ There is never really an edge to his voice, but after he trails off there is a brief pause. His last sentence is far more resolute: ] Differences alone do not make anyone lesser. Whether intrinsic or otherwise.
[ It is the first time he has ever spoken about such things freely with someone. The joy he feels from it, right from his chest, drums subdued energy into his posture. ]
[It's not what he expected, but in some ways, that makes it feel more genuine. Beauty in imperfection? He can't exactly understand that, but he doesn't hate it.
The latter he can understand more, has heard on rare occasions before. There are certainly plenty in London who would disagree. But Klint was not one of them and most of his impression of the world and how it should be came from him. Klint had been enthusiastic about the exchange program, excited about learning from these people from the other side of the world, so different must their perspectives be! And now that van Zieks knew the truth, knew his anger had been unfounded, he understood that value. A great flaw in the British court system had been undone, almost entirely by men from Japan.
And then, on a more personal level... he was different himself, wasn't he? An invert, as was the common parlance, a term he always found deeply unpleasant. Because, he muses, it certainly has the overtone of being lesser. Wrong.]
I can see how you might have quarrel with people over that, unfortunately. But it's a very nice way of looking at the world. It suits you. [After all, Kaspar is very kind and understanding.]
[ Van Zieks may understand better than many, why his brothers may find quarrel with him, though he did his very best to avoid it. The insults he could bear, if it spared him having to fight them. The eldest most of all. The two that followed were already doing his bidding by the time Kaspar came along. A gulf of years between them and him did Kaspar no favors. The younger ones too, emabraced their designated places in their world. Kaspar blames them least of all
But he thinks of none of that now, not with the conversation at hand. He can't quite tell if it a compliment, but it certainly feels nicer than being called an idiot. Having words come out correctly, to feel understood. It continues to be cathartic in ways that surprise him.
[van Zieks typically errs on the side of pessimism when he speaks. Thus, anything positive he says is said with great consideration, and beyond that, out of a sense of forthrightness. He said what he said because he truly thinks that. He was not expecting a compliment in return, and he's caught off guard momentarily.]
I-I do not know what I have done to earn such an assessment from you, but... thank you.
[ Kaspar's hum this time takes an odd note, not quite agreeable. His perpetual calm remains unbroken, though the pause that follows is more from rarer hesitation than a need to find words. ]
... What of, the way you spoke of justice? Of fairness and corruption?
[ Who knew this was the type of man that could loosen his tongue. ]
You care, about the people of London. I find you kind and honest, despite your roles and not due to them.
... are those things expected of you and your station? Even here?
[ With a looser tongue, comes his own brand of playfulness. He doesn't explain that if he had taken him at face value, then they'd hardly be friends now. Kaspar will only handle so many disagreements in a day, unless pressed. ]
Regardless of the current situation, I can hardly divorce myself from standards of behavior that has been ingrained in me for decades, even if they are no longer relevant here.
[He's clearly flattered at that statement, which really is proof enough that loyalty is something he values highly.]
You have very little to base such an assessment of me on.
[In any case. That question... he's fairly reluctant to answer, but Kaspar has shown himself to be nothing if not almost unquestioningly accepting.]
When I was still young? Less was asked of me back then, and really I feel I was... awkward and earnest, at best. Just trying to follow Klint's example, even when I was still a child.
[ Kaspar attempts an explanation of sorts, a predictably simple one. Logic that would be easily explained to someone like van Zieks has very little to do with it. A man so loyal that he cannot see beyond the home he left. Not that Kaspar faults him for it, or for being the opposite of himself in that regard. Loyalty, once earned, is something Kaspar values greater than many things.
But he does not give it based solely on structure, logic, or propriety. For Kaspar, it is subject to his personal feelings. And for better or worse van Zieks has earned a level of loyalty. The more the other man shares with him in little moments, the weaker Kaspar becomes.
It doesn't hurt his throat to speak of it, until it tightens by the end-- ]
... there was a time, when I wished to earn my brother's respect. [ He means their love, though to them it was usually one and the same. ]
Our homes, seem to have asked much of both our lives.
[ Kaspar hesitates, and decides again to not admit that he doesn't wish to return home. ]
[It's strange, he thinks, that even after what he's learned, he can't truly imagine not caring for Klint's opinion. But then, he knows that there is much to base his remaining sentiment on, that isn't automatically undone by the wrongs. He can, on a more theoretical level, imagine such a situation.]
... What was asked of you? If... you don't mind me asking. I feel I don't know as much about you as I would like. [Which is, of course, because Kaspar is so quiet. But maybe if he's patient, he can still slowly wring information out of the man.]
[ Kaspar's smile only wavers briefly, a glimpse of grief. Of dark tunnels soaked with blood, of the look on the faces of those he's cared about.
He takes a moment. If van Zieks is patient enough in the silent turmoil that dredging up memories washes over him beneath his calm exterior, he will be rewarded with a cracking. A deep breath does nothing to keep the thickness from his throat. But he wants to be honest. ]
My soul, freedoms. My life, if it came to it. Perhaps, I should, tell you, I have seen war. [ Kaspar shakes his head, expression cloudy when he corrects himself. It's the shakiest his voice has ever been, but there are no tears: ] extermination.
I...
[ He's run out of words, and has no tea to distract him. So he stands to try and slowly pick up the dishes. ]
[A soldier, then. Given his style of dress when they first met, this hardly surprised him, but at the same time, he can hardly imagine someone of Kaspar's temperament at war. He's familiar with soldiers, met several, but "extermination" is... significantly more troubling. There's a deeper and more brutal significance to it. The more he learns about Kaspar's world, the more unpleasant it sounds. And thus the more astounding that it turns out someone as soft and kind as Kaspar.]
Pray forgive the discourtesy of dredging up unpleasant memories. I cannot... Imagine suffering through such things. [And really, that he burdened Kaspar with his own troubles that, while inarguably not insignificant, pale in comparison to the horrors of war, he's sure.]
My own concerns must seem so frivolous in comparison.
[ Kaspar shakes his head at that, reaching a free hand for van Zieks. Whatever part of him is closest to receive the warm squeeze of his hand. He is quiet, but fine. The concern has him fetching himself more tea instead of the final retreat he'd clearly started. He doesn't deserve the pity. It eats at him, causing his chest to feel hallowed and barren.
But selfishly, he likes the comfort, finds he yearns for it on some level. It eases the feeling, but withdraws him for the moment. Kaspar suffered, like many Groscians, though at times he felt as though he was the only one that realized they'd become murderers.
Kaspar already forgave himself, as his previously ignored words to van Zieks might hint. But there would never be a way to avoid the memories completely. The air almost takes on the thin quality of the depths, the stench of it all comes back to him so fast he nearly wavers until the smell of tea overtakes it.
He doesn't sit again, stilling a moment. Another deep breath, quiet and drawn. Sipping at his new cup, the warmth starts ro return to his face and he speaks again if van Zieks is patient this time too. ]
... I welcome your concerns, your thoughts. With more men like you, there would be less need for men like me. I believe.
[Van Zieks allows the hand on his arm, because to refuse Kaspar whatever gave him comfort at the moment would be cruel, he imagines.]
I hardly think you can rightly say that of a man whose work sends people to the gallows. [It's a weak protest, really. After a moment of hesitation, he places his own hand over Kaspar's.]
Really I marvel at your own strength of character for your good nature to persist in the face of such trials, Kaspar.
Does your work, send men to the gallows for their choice in partner?
[ It's sharper than his usual tone, but barely. Kaspar couldn't blame him if he did, given the men he'd walked to the gallows. The way he asks is not rhetoric. He fully believes it a possibility that van Zieks has, even if he doesn't directly suspect it.
Any softness left in his words belong to a friend long gone, whose mind he'd so admired, and before that his first and only love. Both lost to circumstance for the good of the country.
He sounds as though accepting defeat, and it feels as much. He'd followed orders, resisted where safe. A lesson handed him by his father, that surviving with a free mind is a victory in itself in a world that will never understand. He does not regret it, but it leaves him appreciative of van Zieks ability to defend his principles. ]
I followed in my brother's footsteps and focused my efforts on trying men who I felt were doing the most damage to London. Leaders of organized crime, fraud, high profile murderers. [You know, real criminals.]
You survived, for all intents and purposes, with your optimism intact. Meanwhile, I allowed a single moment of loss to profoundly change who I was as a person. [He was, as he said, very different when he was younger.]
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I was very lucky to have a brother like him.
[A soft sigh. Even now, he still really believes that.]
But what about you, Kaspar?
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He does not tense at the thought of his brothers, older and younger. They all looked so much like their mother. Subtle listlessness instead of tension creates distance instead of comfort with his relaxed yet harder to read silence.
There were good memories too, of course, just enough that he could never truly dismiss ot hate them. No matter their criticisms or effective disownment. When was the last letter he'd sent? It'd been even longer since he'd gotten one in return from any of then. He makes no habit of dwelling on them, for he doubts they care much about his absence.
A pause, weakened by the talk of brothers with someone he trusts more than anyone back home.
He states it simply, a little too calm. ]
... they do not see the world as I do, I'm afraid.
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He sighs.]
I'm sorry to hear that.
[He pauses a moment, hesitant to pry, but ultimately too curious not to.]
How, exactly, would you say you see the world, Kaspar?
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As subtle as a flower leaning for the sun, his warmth returns-- ]
The world seems an imperfect place, just as its people. I believe, there is beauty in that.
[ There is never really an edge to his voice, but after he trails off there is a brief pause. His last sentence is far more resolute: ] Differences alone do not make anyone lesser. Whether intrinsic or otherwise.
[ It is the first time he has ever spoken about such things freely with someone. The joy he feels from it, right from his chest, drums subdued energy into his posture. ]
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The latter he can understand more, has heard on rare occasions before. There are certainly plenty in London who would disagree. But Klint was not one of them and most of his impression of the world and how it should be came from him. Klint had been enthusiastic about the exchange program, excited about learning from these people from the other side of the world, so different must their perspectives be! And now that van Zieks knew the truth, knew his anger had been unfounded, he understood that value. A great flaw in the British court system had been undone, almost entirely by men from Japan.
And then, on a more personal level... he was different himself, wasn't he? An invert, as was the common parlance, a term he always found deeply unpleasant. Because, he muses, it certainly has the overtone of being lesser. Wrong.]
I can see how you might have quarrel with people over that, unfortunately. But it's a very nice way of looking at the world. It suits you.
[After all, Kaspar is very kind and understanding.]
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But he thinks of none of that now, not with the conversation at hand. He can't quite tell if it a compliment, but it certainly feels nicer than being called an idiot. Having words come out correctly, to feel understood. It continues to be cathartic in ways that surprise him.
His nod is his agreement, before he adds-- ]
... and your convictions suit you.
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I-I do not know what I have done to earn such an assessment from you, but... thank you.
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[ Is what van Zieks has provided for his assessment. Kaspar says it as simply as the weather that catches his eye from the window with a glance.
Followed by more comfortable silence. ]
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[He somehow seems relieved? Or dissapointed? Somehow both? Hm.]
I am only conducting myself as a man of my station should, really.
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... what assessment, would you provide yourself?
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[He sips his tea.]
I am a man fulfilling the roles that have been asked of me. That is all.
[Prosecutor, Nobleman, Reaper.]
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... What of, the way you spoke of justice? Of fairness and corruption?
[ Who knew this was the type of man that could loosen his tongue. ]
You care, about the people of London. I find you kind and honest, despite your roles and not due to them.
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[He looks away.]
If you'll take some unsolicited advice, Kaspar, it is in your best interests to not take people at face value.
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[ With a looser tongue, comes his own brand of playfulness. He doesn't explain that if he had taken him at face value, then they'd hardly be friends now. Kaspar will only handle so many disagreements in a day, unless pressed. ]
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[ Kaspar surprises even himself with the speed and conviction that settles into that additional assessment. ]
What would your assessment have been, decades ago?
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You have very little to base such an assessment of me on.
[In any case. That question... he's fairly reluctant to answer, but Kaspar has shown himself to be nothing if not almost unquestioningly accepting.]
When I was still young? Less was asked of me back then, and really I feel I was... awkward and earnest, at best. Just trying to follow Klint's example, even when I was still a child.
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[ Kaspar attempts an explanation of sorts, a predictably simple one. Logic that would be easily explained to someone like van Zieks has very little to do with it. A man so loyal that he cannot see beyond the home he left. Not that Kaspar faults him for it, or for being the opposite of himself in that regard. Loyalty, once earned, is something Kaspar values greater than many things.
But he does not give it based solely on structure, logic, or propriety. For Kaspar, it is subject to his personal feelings. And for better or worse van Zieks has earned a level of loyalty. The more the other man shares with him in little moments, the weaker Kaspar becomes.
It doesn't hurt his throat to speak of it, until it tightens by the end-- ]
... there was a time, when I wished to earn my brother's respect. [ He means their love, though to them it was usually one and the same. ]
Our homes, seem to have asked much of both our lives.
[ Kaspar hesitates, and decides again to not admit that he doesn't wish to return home. ]
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... What was asked of you? If... you don't mind me asking. I feel I don't know as much about you as I would like.
[Which is, of course, because Kaspar is so quiet. But maybe if he's patient, he can still slowly wring information out of the man.]
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He takes a moment. If van Zieks is patient enough in the silent turmoil that dredging up memories washes over him beneath his calm exterior, he will be rewarded with a cracking. A deep breath does nothing to keep the thickness from his throat. But he wants to be honest. ]
My soul, freedoms. My life, if it came to it. Perhaps, I should, tell you, I have seen war. [ Kaspar shakes his head, expression cloudy when he corrects himself. It's the shakiest his voice has ever been, but there are no tears: ] extermination.
I...
[ He's run out of words, and has no tea to distract him. So he stands to try and slowly pick up the dishes. ]
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Pray forgive the discourtesy of dredging up unpleasant memories. I cannot... Imagine suffering through such things.
[And really, that he burdened Kaspar with his own troubles that, while inarguably not insignificant, pale in comparison to the horrors of war, he's sure.]
My own concerns must seem so frivolous in comparison.
Cw war stuff, death and blood, a little visceral
But selfishly, he likes the comfort, finds he yearns for it on some level. It eases the feeling, but withdraws him for the moment. Kaspar suffered, like many Groscians, though at times he felt as though he was the only one that realized they'd become murderers.
Kaspar already forgave himself, as his previously ignored words to van Zieks might hint. But there would never be a way to avoid the memories completely. The air almost takes on the thin quality of the depths, the stench of it all comes back to him so fast he nearly wavers until the smell of tea overtakes it.
He doesn't sit again, stilling a moment. Another deep breath, quiet and drawn. Sipping at his new cup, the warmth starts ro return to his face and he speaks again if van Zieks is patient this time too. ]
... I welcome your concerns, your thoughts. With more men like you, there would be less need for men like me. I believe.
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I hardly think you can rightly say that of a man whose work sends people to the gallows.
[It's a weak protest, really. After a moment of hesitation, he places his own hand over Kaspar's.]
Really I marvel at your own strength of character for your good nature to persist in the face of such trials, Kaspar.
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[ It's sharper than his usual tone, but barely. Kaspar couldn't blame him if he did, given the men he'd walked to the gallows. The way he asks is not rhetoric. He fully believes it a possibility that van Zieks has, even if he doesn't directly suspect it.
Any softness left in his words belong to a friend long gone, whose mind he'd so admired, and before that his first and only love. Both lost to circumstance for the good of the country.
He sounds as though accepting defeat, and it feels as much. He'd followed orders, resisted where safe. A lesson handed him by his father, that surviving with a free mind is a victory in itself in a world that will never understand. He does not regret it, but it leaves him appreciative of van Zieks ability to defend his principles. ]
... I survived, that is all.
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[His answer is firm and immediate.]
I followed in my brother's footsteps and focused my efforts on trying men who I felt were doing the most damage to London. Leaders of organized crime, fraud, high profile murderers.
[You know, real criminals.]
You survived, for all intents and purposes, with your optimism intact. Meanwhile, I allowed a single moment of loss to profoundly change who I was as a person.
[He was, as he said, very different when he was younger.]
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