[Carlisle has so much he wants to say in response.
Who is he to decide? He's Atem's teacher, someone who has lost all his other students. He was so reluctant to take on another, so unwilling to force himself into a position where he might suffer another heartache, where he might watch his pupil -- and friend -- just vanish without a trace, so much like his entire family.
Afraid of a demon? It is less the demon herself and more what she can do to those he cares about. He can't face a possessed Atem the way he did Emily, having his skills and her gifts turned on him. He still has nightmares of that horrific event, sees the despair in Glacius' eyes again and again when he touches the mangled side of his partner's face, the hollow where his mandible used to be. Carlisle can't do it. Not again, not now... hopefully not ever.
Giving his life again? That sounds far too much like someone else he knows, someone he has argued with repeatedly over the value of her own life and why she should treasure it. Not everyone gets a second chance, or a third, or a fourth, or however many times this place and its gods will necromance a person. And when it comes to demons, the very soul could be tainted. Would they resurrect Atem again if he was poisoned by such a foul creature?
All he wants to say is tossed aside as Atem continues, turning the guilt and regret onto Carlisle himself. The creases of his face fall away as his expression falters, his eyes widening. What has he done with his life?
He knows the answer to that. He is the failure of the Longinmouth line, a man who only found his way in the world once he'd been drawn from it.
Is he happy he how he's lived it?
Until recently, he wasn't. Even now, he questions. He clings to what he has, so afraid to lose it all again. But if he could live it over, do things differently—
There's a twitch in his expression, along his cheek and under his eye as his frame stiffens. No, he can't think like that. If things were different, would he even have what he does now? Would he have his student, his friends, his partner? Would he be any happier were he someone else entirely, a man his lineage could be proud of? Or would he still be a coward, frightened of his end, desperate to make amends for his continued existence, his grip on life and reality so lax that he can no longer tell discern his own dreams from reality?
The light in his eyes ignites, the illumination so intense it nearly drowns out his pupils; his chair rocks as he pushes off it, too incensed to remain seated.]
What can you do?! March to your end and make a true enemy of a demon, all for the mere chance you might seal her?
[In his outburst, ink drips from between his teeth.]
And if you don't, what happens to you? She lashes out, or your own energies turn on you? What if you're the one who ends up sealed? What then?!
[He grabs at his abdomen as he sucks in a breath; it sounds strangled, and is immediately met with coughing, ink trailing through his fingers. He continues, despite choking on his words.]
And what do I do? What am I supposed to think when those around me cannot find value in their own lives? Cannot see just how it destroys those left behind? Why do they get this wondrous life full of chances, and I don't?!
[He seems to be given pause by his own question, an thought that has plagued him for years now escaping in his vehemence. He doesn't get the chance to ponder it, nor apologize, as he starts hacking again, viscous ink ravaging him as it pours out with every cough, suffocates him with each wheeze. Carlisle steps back as though to keep the ink off Atem, one leg nearly collapsing beneath him as he holds onto the back of his chair for support.]
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Date: 2018-10-13 04:47 am (UTC)Who is he to decide? He's Atem's teacher, someone who has lost all his other students. He was so reluctant to take on another, so unwilling to force himself into a position where he might suffer another heartache, where he might watch his pupil -- and friend -- just vanish without a trace, so much like his entire family.
Afraid of a demon? It is less the demon herself and more what she can do to those he cares about. He can't face a possessed Atem the way he did Emily, having his skills and her gifts turned on him. He still has nightmares of that horrific event, sees the despair in Glacius' eyes again and again when he touches the mangled side of his partner's face, the hollow where his mandible used to be. Carlisle can't do it. Not again, not now... hopefully not ever.
Giving his life again? That sounds far too much like someone else he knows, someone he has argued with repeatedly over the value of her own life and why she should treasure it. Not everyone gets a second chance, or a third, or a fourth, or however many times this place and its gods will necromance a person. And when it comes to demons, the very soul could be tainted. Would they resurrect Atem again if he was poisoned by such a foul creature?
All he wants to say is tossed aside as Atem continues, turning the guilt and regret onto Carlisle himself. The creases of his face fall away as his expression falters, his eyes widening. What has he done with his life?
He knows the answer to that. He is the failure of the Longinmouth line, a man who only found his way in the world once he'd been drawn from it.
Is he happy he how he's lived it?
Until recently, he wasn't. Even now, he questions. He clings to what he has, so afraid to lose it all again. But if he could live it over, do things differently—
There's a twitch in his expression, along his cheek and under his eye as his frame stiffens. No, he can't think like that. If things were different, would he even have what he does now? Would he have his student, his friends, his partner? Would he be any happier were he someone else entirely, a man his lineage could be proud of? Or would he still be a coward, frightened of his end, desperate to make amends for his continued existence, his grip on life and reality so lax that he can no longer tell discern his own dreams from reality?
The light in his eyes ignites, the illumination so intense it nearly drowns out his pupils; his chair rocks as he pushes off it, too incensed to remain seated.]
What can you do?! March to your end and make a true enemy of a demon, all for the mere chance you might seal her?
[In his outburst, ink drips from between his teeth.]
And if you don't, what happens to you? She lashes out, or your own energies turn on you? What if you're the one who ends up sealed? What then?!
[He grabs at his abdomen as he sucks in a breath; it sounds strangled, and is immediately met with coughing, ink trailing through his fingers. He continues, despite choking on his words.]
And what do I do? What am I supposed to think when those around me cannot find value in their own lives? Cannot see just how it destroys those left behind? Why do they get this wondrous life full of chances, and I don't?!
[He seems to be given pause by his own question, an thought that has plagued him for years now escaping in his vehemence. He doesn't get the chance to ponder it, nor apologize, as he starts hacking again, viscous ink ravaging him as it pours out with every cough, suffocates him with each wheeze. Carlisle steps back as though to keep the ink off Atem, one leg nearly collapsing beneath him as he holds onto the back of his chair for support.]