[Sometimes the correct answer is just to let a person believe what they wanna believe...... It's fine... No one has to know! Not even Yves knows!! Only Adolphe is the keeper of the cursed knowledge as he always is!
He also just blinks at this though. HELLO.]
You're in quite a violent mood. Normally the church soothes...
[Jacopo's soul is just prone to making threats even when freshly strung back together from the cloudy sooty void.]
[ Adolphe the sole beholder of the truth until it's revealed that Lucas is strong and people were surprised that Adolphe wasn't joking.
He looks off to the side, sulky in the house of God where you should not hurt thy neighbor. ]
It'd make him a good patient, wouldn't it?
[ YVES WOULD BE IMMOBILE? The funny thing is if someone said this to Jacopo, he'd call them an insane madman. A barbarian. A savage. Use your brain and put brawn beside. ]
[THE WAY THEY'RE EVEN LIKE "ADOLPHE IT'S SO UNLIKE YOU TO JOKE LIKE THIS BUT YOU REALLY LOVE THIS ONE HUH" like it's just that much less believable that Lucas isn't a frail Victorian twink by comparison. So funny.
Stop sulking in the house of God.]
On the contrary, I'd argue that it would make him an even worse patient. Knowing that boy, he would just walk on his broken legs anyway and then it would take twice as long for him to heal compared to if he merely needed to heal his ribs...
[Not a single person on this island is normal. Jacopo would fit right in with his double standards.]
If he wasn't able to even move so much as a finger, I do believe he'd have much bigger problems?
[It really is just paralysis. Or being comatose. My god. It's hard to imagine Yves taking that much injury because somehow he keeps injury terminator-ing his way forward.]
Ah—if you'd like to go elsewhere, I don't mind. I find places of worship quite comforting, so I'm afraid I'd just stay here for hours if left to my own devices.
[ And if it isn't recoverable, that's just a skill issue. There's a weary sigh when Lucas says that perhaps he'd just be here forever, weary in a familiar way. Morgana was the same. ]
There's so much more outside of the church's walls, but if you're looking to be pious then we can see the cemetery.
[NOT THE SKILL ISSUE. Yves is just a little guy... But it's fine, he's distracted by the weary and familiar sigh. Jacopo, your lot in life is to be surrounded by Catholics, apparently.]
The cemetery? I wouldn't mind venturing there, then, if only to pay respects while here. [Though there's a little hesitant uncertainty, in the sense that he's not entirely certain why or how there's a cemetery in a place like this to begin with. A nod to whatever structure the dream built its foundation on, he guesses, and doesn't ask just yet.
He'll at least rise and dust his skirts off, looking toward the pulpit once again before turning to face Jacopo.]
[ Because cemeteries are in memories. Despite how some people may find them to be a locale that draws a dark grey pall, it brings some comfort to have a place where they can spiritually connect to those gone.
Unfortunately, for Jacopo, he cares little for what happens after death and still thinks not much for graves, but he considers for those who see value in them. Maybe that's why it's there... Fond memories must be somewhere. ]
You should make more decisions yourself.
[ But Jacopo does like leading? Or being assumed that he's one who can be relied on.
To the cemetery they go to pay respects for names that are blurred to the eye. In the distance, they can almost spot a red apparition, but it disappears after one blink like it was never there. What makes the cemetery stays. The tombstones are a strange array... Some are humble and modest, made by simple twigs in the shape of a cross or a small cairn of stones. Some are grand, harboring caskets encased in granite or marble above ground or stored in a majestic mausoleum. The disparity of wealth is palpable, but so is time period. It oscillates between Medieval and Victorian, basically.
It's a manicured place, open to the sun's brilliant rays. None of the graves are overgrown or bereft of care. Green grass takes over this section instead of golden wheat, bending and dancing to a soft breeze. ]
[Jacopo... You are such a funny contradictory little guy. His head cants a little, and the simply says:]
It's your home, after all; I trust you to guide the way.
[To know what there is to see, to not lead him toward some wildass danger or anything of the sort... Even if he'd likely be able to handle it, he'd prefer not to be ambushed.
To the cemetery they GO... The spectre catches his attention for the second it's there and gone, and his brow furrows for a moment, but he chooses to set it aside and not think about it overly-much, as with many things. Instead, he pays attention to the tombstones and the differences in the types. Walking from quiet grave to quiet grave in this manicured patch of grass leaves him quieted, himself.
He pauses in front of one with carvings of beautiful flowers, folding his hands together in a gesture that borders on something anxious, or at least discomforted. Unhappy, in some way, brief and fleeting as the feeling is.]
...As you can likely imagine, there are an abundance of graves in my home. Many are left to ruin, though. Surviving relatives don't often survive for very long, and those that do...
[Well. They only do so because they become Relivers, and often lose any love or care that would have driven them to tend to a grave plot, anyway.]
[ It is the human condition. There aren't a lot of predators aside from foxes, boars, and vipers in modern Sicily, I think... But back in the day there used to be wolves, but that is not something Jacopo would have in his perfect dream world where nothing bad ever happens.
The cemetery does look like it's well taken care of, even though there doesn't seem to be anyone in sight in comparison to the little town nearby. Jacopo gives the site a survey with his arms crossed. ]
It used to be common to let peasantry rot on the streets, so burials and remembrance were rare in that case.
[ Still, Relivers. ]
I don't condemn them those who move on. Living is for those alive, but... Memories should inspire something.
[ And he is guessing Relivers feel not much for those memories aside from how they make them closer to whole. ]
[Jacopo said no natural predators in MY little slice of delusion. Lucas looks back over toward him as he surveys the place, his hands folded neatly and primly together.]
An unfortunate thing. [Quietly but not with too much judgment, considering people also just kind of keeled over in public in his home too and were mostly dealt with not out of respect for human dignity, but just because they're a small island without a lot of real estate and couldn't just have bodies stacking up.
The rest, though... He at least agrees that memories should inspire something, and sighs, the sound of it soft enough to be lost.]
They should, yes. It's just tragic, otherwise. People should be able to live their lives while keeping hold of at least a part of those who have left them, I'm whatever way that piece may manifest, or however they may choose to carry it.
[Moving on, as a concept on a whole, feels like an impossibility - but he supposes he could spare judgment from those who do, depending on how they do it. Just don't be Relivers about it, damn.]
[ Relivers were once people who made choices, weren't they? They chose to let go in the most extreme ways. Jacopo isn't sure if he would follow that path if given to him... Only because even with strong opinions and ideals, one could bend under desperation. Humans are amenable and malleable.
Still, it's too much to consider being a walking ghost of who you used to be, but he supposes he was that once. A smile randomly forms because he thinks he tires of heavy topics. ]
[And SOME PEOPLE choose to THROW AWAY THEIR ETERNAL SOUL and become DEMONS but it's fine, he's not judging, except for when he does.
He isn't exactly a fan of lingering overly-long on the various implications of Relivers and what the 50/50 split toward sacrificing a soul for longevity means for the fabric of humanity itself, though. When the shift in topic comes, he turns with it easily.]
Who is the dutiful keeper...? It does look very well-maintained, so I can only imagine they take on the duty with sincerity and dedication.
[ From what Nier Automata and Final Fantasy 14 told me, they become less and less human to the point they can function on free will anymore. Sometimes, you act upon data and once you set a goal, there is nothing left so you must prolong your achievement as long as possible so you and your people can function.
Suddenly, his expression is flat as he gives Lucas such an incredulous expression. ]
[I SEE. Dire and tragic. Lucas would point at these findings and be like "see" as he shoves his serial killing under a carpet.
He just looks back, though, blinking like the innocent little lamb he is... DON'T LOOK AT HIM INCREDULOUSLY YOU STUPID FRUIT THIS IS YOUR HALLUCINATORY WHEAT FIELDS HOUSE.]
Just because he made it, doesn't mean he's entirely aware of where things come from or why they're here? So much in Fata Morgana happens because it happens. ]
Do I look like I should know? I'm a resident like the rest.
That's fair though, so much happens everywhere simply because it happens. Perhaps even moreso in weird afterlife limbo situations. Whatever the hell is going on here. Lucas looks out toward the tidy lawn and then back to Jacopo with a little quirk of something amused in his expression.]
You've never been a little curious, or wanted to find out? I think I should like to meet a person who would tend to so many graves so kindly.
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no subject
He also just blinks at this though. HELLO.]
You're in quite a violent mood. Normally the church soothes...
[Jacopo's soul is just prone to making threats even when freshly strung back together from the cloudy sooty void.]
no subject
He looks off to the side, sulky in the house of God where you should not hurt thy neighbor. ]
It'd make him a good patient, wouldn't it?
[ YVES WOULD BE IMMOBILE? The funny thing is if someone said this to Jacopo, he'd call them an insane madman. A barbarian. A savage. Use your brain and put brawn beside. ]
no subject
Stop sulking in the house of God.]
On the contrary, I'd argue that it would make him an even worse patient. Knowing that boy, he would just walk on his broken legs anyway and then it would take twice as long for him to heal compared to if he merely needed to heal his ribs...
[Not a single person on this island is normal. Jacopo would fit right in with his double standards.]
no subject
You can't walk if you can't move a finger.
[ It's that level of injured, which may be paralysis at that point, but he shrugs. ]
Had your fill of the Holy grounds?
no subject
ALSO HELLO.]
If he wasn't able to even move so much as a finger, I do believe he'd have much bigger problems?
[It really is just paralysis. Or being comatose. My god. It's hard to imagine Yves taking that much injury because somehow he keeps injury terminator-ing his way forward.]
Ah—if you'd like to go elsewhere, I don't mind. I find places of worship quite comforting, so I'm afraid I'd just stay here for hours if left to my own devices.
no subject
[ And if it isn't recoverable, that's just a skill issue. There's a weary sigh when Lucas says that perhaps he'd just be here forever, weary in a familiar way. Morgana was the same. ]
There's so much more outside of the church's walls, but if you're looking to be pious then we can see the cemetery.
no subject
[NOT THE SKILL ISSUE. Yves is just a little guy... But it's fine, he's distracted by the weary and familiar sigh. Jacopo, your lot in life is to be surrounded by Catholics, apparently.]
The cemetery? I wouldn't mind venturing there, then, if only to pay respects while here. [Though there's a little hesitant uncertainty, in the sense that he's not entirely certain why or how there's a cemetery in a place like this to begin with. A nod to whatever structure the dream built its foundation on, he guesses, and doesn't ask just yet.
He'll at least rise and dust his skirts off, looking toward the pulpit once again before turning to face Jacopo.]
I'll follow where you lead.
no subject
Unfortunately, for Jacopo, he cares little for what happens after death and still thinks not much for graves, but he considers for those who see value in them. Maybe that's why it's there... Fond memories must be somewhere. ]
You should make more decisions yourself.
[ But Jacopo does like leading? Or being assumed that he's one who can be relied on.
To the cemetery they go to pay respects for names that are blurred to the eye. In the distance, they can almost spot a red apparition, but it disappears after one blink like it was never there. What makes the cemetery stays. The tombstones are a strange array... Some are humble and modest, made by simple twigs in the shape of a cross or a small cairn of stones. Some are grand, harboring caskets encased in granite or marble above ground or stored in a majestic mausoleum. The disparity of wealth is palpable, but so is time period. It oscillates between Medieval and Victorian, basically.
It's a manicured place, open to the sun's brilliant rays. None of the graves are overgrown or bereft of care. Green grass takes over this section instead of golden wheat, bending and dancing to a soft breeze. ]
no subject
It's your home, after all; I trust you to guide the way.
[To know what there is to see, to not lead him toward some wildass danger or anything of the sort... Even if he'd likely be able to handle it, he'd prefer not to be ambushed.
To the cemetery they GO... The spectre catches his attention for the second it's there and gone, and his brow furrows for a moment, but he chooses to set it aside and not think about it overly-much, as with many things. Instead, he pays attention to the tombstones and the differences in the types. Walking from quiet grave to quiet grave in this manicured patch of grass leaves him quieted, himself.
He pauses in front of one with carvings of beautiful flowers, folding his hands together in a gesture that borders on something anxious, or at least discomforted. Unhappy, in some way, brief and fleeting as the feeling is.]
...As you can likely imagine, there are an abundance of graves in my home. Many are left to ruin, though. Surviving relatives don't often survive for very long, and those that do...
[Well. They only do so because they become Relivers, and often lose any love or care that would have driven them to tend to a grave plot, anyway.]
no subject
The cemetery does look like it's well taken care of, even though there doesn't seem to be anyone in sight in comparison to the little town nearby. Jacopo gives the site a survey with his arms crossed. ]
It used to be common to let peasantry rot on the streets, so burials and remembrance were rare in that case.
[ Still, Relivers. ]
I don't condemn them those who move on. Living is for those alive, but... Memories should inspire something.
[ And he is guessing Relivers feel not much for those memories aside from how they make them closer to whole. ]
no subject
An unfortunate thing. [Quietly but not with too much judgment, considering people also just kind of keeled over in public in his home too and were mostly dealt with not out of respect for human dignity, but just because they're a small island without a lot of real estate and couldn't just have bodies stacking up.
The rest, though... He at least agrees that memories should inspire something, and sighs, the sound of it soft enough to be lost.]
They should, yes. It's just tragic, otherwise. People should be able to live their lives while keeping hold of at least a part of those who have left them, I'm whatever way that piece may manifest, or however they may choose to carry it.
[Moving on, as a concept on a whole, feels like an impossibility - but he supposes he could spare judgment from those who do, depending on how they do it. Just don't be Relivers about it, damn.]
no subject
It's about choice in the end.
[ Relivers were once people who made choices, weren't they? They chose to let go in the most extreme ways. Jacopo isn't sure if he would follow that path if given to him... Only because even with strong opinions and ideals, one could bend under desperation. Humans are amenable and malleable.
Still, it's too much to consider being a walking ghost of who you used to be, but he supposes he was that once. A smile randomly forms because he thinks he tires of heavy topics. ]
At least this little site has a dutiful keeper.
no subject
[And SOME PEOPLE choose to THROW AWAY THEIR ETERNAL SOUL and become DEMONS but it's fine, he's not judging, except for when he does.
He isn't exactly a fan of lingering overly-long on the various implications of Relivers and what the 50/50 split toward sacrificing a soul for longevity means for the fabric of humanity itself, though. When the shift in topic comes, he turns with it easily.]
Who is the dutiful keeper...? It does look very well-maintained, so I can only imagine they take on the duty with sincerity and dedication.
no subject
Suddenly, his expression is flat as he gives Lucas such an incredulous expression. ]
Why are you asking me?
no subject
He just looks back, though, blinking like the innocent little lamb he is... DON'T LOOK AT HIM INCREDULOUSLY YOU STUPID FRUIT THIS IS YOUR HALLUCINATORY WHEAT FIELDS HOUSE.]
Do you not know the answer?
no subject
Just because he made it, doesn't mean he's entirely aware of where things come from or why they're here? So much in Fata Morgana happens because it happens. ]
Do I look like I should know? I'm a resident like the rest.
no subject
That's fair though, so much happens everywhere simply because it happens. Perhaps even moreso in weird afterlife limbo situations. Whatever the hell is going on here. Lucas looks out toward the tidy lawn and then back to Jacopo with a little quirk of something amused in his expression.]
You've never been a little curious, or wanted to find out? I think I should like to meet a person who would tend to so many graves so kindly.