loungelizard | Ryslig Inbox

[ If his cheeks weren't already frost-licked they might have paled. It's not the subject matter; he's heard this a hundred times by now. It's the way Larry admits so casually and complacently that the person he loves is... a sadist, apparently? Preluded by that bubbly laugh.

Slowly, Steve sets his bowl aside. ]

Is this what's going to happen to me?

[ The half-eaten food sitting idly by might ordinarily signal that he's done. It's hard to say whether that's true or if it's just because he needs his hands for something else, namely to lower his head into and rub at his temples in teeth-clenching frustration. ]

Enough time passes, and you just- I'll just... get so used to all this I won't care anymore?

[Larry cringes.] Er, well...no, not necessarily.

[Larry taps his thumb against the edge of his own bowl as he tries to figure out how to address this concern without turning it into yet another "actually put the brakes on this subject and explain to me how you know you're fictional" tangent.]

I was already "used to this" when I woke up here! Y'see -- my wife and I don't come from a world like yours. Death isn't nearly the grave subject to us as it is to you, or most other people around here. You shouldn't use me for an example of a typical experience on that.

[He shrugs.]

I think most people "get used to it"...but that doesn't mean they stop caring. There's a nuance.

Edited 2021-02-14 17:41 (UTC)

[ It doesn't matter that Larry's making a good point. No sooner than it's gone deathly cold, Steve can feel his face getting hot.

It also doesn't matter that he's pretty sure the man in front of him is harmless, or that said man is doing him a great favor, or even that he's promised him another one on top of that. He doesn't want to be so angry, but it's already eaten up any sensible thing he might have said. ]

Nuance, okay. Nice pep talk.

[ He lifts his head again, a cheek lolling heavily into one hand. ]

Do you care, Mister Hunky Dory? Not before. You made that clear, but have you considered starting?

[Steve is met with a stilled silence. By all rights, Larry could ask him to simply leave, on account of him being so rude after being given the most warm welcome someone could be afforded in a world like this. It would be the easier course of action, especially if he wants to keep the whole "video game" thing under wraps.

As Larry looks down at the bowl in his lap and runs his thumb across the edge of it, he heavily considers the option, even if it might look from the outside he looks like he's being sad and thoughtful.

But the problem is that Larry is too honest for his own good. Besides, it might be kind of cathartic to say out loud what's been on his mind ever since day one.

Larry looks back up at Steve, with an even and shockingly intense gaze from a dorky beaver-man.]

I know how to read a room, Steve. ...er. Most of the time. I know that this place isn't like my home, and lives are so much more rare and precious around here. Believe me...I've tried to care. I share my condolences and use a solemn tone when someone dies...but it's just an act.

And that's because I've died more ways than someone can count.

I've been eaten alive by sharks, cut in half with a laser, beaten to death by thugs, tortured to death by the KGB, choked on a hairpin, drowned in the ocean, shot by a rocket, shot, electrocuted, choked, incinerated, and even committed suicide. And those are just the ones that come to the top of my mind, and each of those I've experienced thousands, maybe millions of times over and over again.

All in the name of a punchline.

[Larry's eyebrows steeple apologetically as he closes his eyes. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.]

And that's why I can't help but think it's funny when someone dies.

[ It almost seems like he's being asked for sympathy, or maybe even just his understanding, but both of those things would require him being able to wrap his head around any part of this. To top off a staggering heap of confusion, Larry's closing statement is like a slap across the face. ]

Do you realize what you sound like?

[ Physically, Steve almost even looks like he's been knocked off balance, mouth slightly agape as he white-knuckles an armrest for support, staring back at his host with the disbelief of someone who's just been told a very long, unfunny joke at a funeral. ]

Like what- What is this... What are you telling me, that you were in literal hell before? Full-on fire and brimstone with some seriously creative demons? Because, man... I've heard a lot of shit, but this is pushing it.

Edited 2021-02-17 16:04 (UTC)

Absolutely. I know I sound crazy, but it's true.

[Oh well. Here it goes, then.]

It's not hell, though. The world I come from is a video game. That's just how things work there.

Correction, that is pushing it.

[ But it seems to... not calm him down per se, but it forces his brain down a wildly different track. Luckily he's been running errands for Souda, or else he'd only have Pong, Pac-Man, and Space Invaders for reference at the very best. ]

That would mean you had no say in anything you did, ever.

[Steve is right, technically speaking. He thinks it's mundane -- as mundane as people around here that come from worlds of magic and science fiction, but for some reason, the magic and science fiction seems to go over much better than "I'm fictional and I know it".

Oh well.]

That's not true. Not really. But it's a common misconception.

[He sits forward and stirs the pot as he talks.]

I can't draw any direct parallels with what it's like to be nonfictional. If you've ever paid attention to the decisions you've made in your life, you'll notice that any given moment you are "funnelled" into a series of choices, given the limitations of your situation. In my case, I create the funnel of choices that a player can make for me.

In a way, you could say that I consented to every death a player has ever caused me...but, again, part of that is because I know I have infinite lives. There are some games where I never gave the player that choice.

[He shrugs, then pours himself a new bowl.]

I have autonomy -- it just looks different than you might recognize.

[ He nods slowly. That was... articulate, to say the least. ]

Okay, I'm just saying, if you are what you say you are. There must be others like you, and- Yeah, glad I never fell for the video game craze. I never have to worry about coming face to face with some guy I threw into a spike pit fifty times.

[ The famed yellow pip-eating blob might have some words for him, however. ]

Is... [ He starts to ask another question, realizes what he's doing, and, with a sigh, accepts that he's interested in this. ]

So, is it nice to be free? Of the spike pits, the sharks...

[ Gotta be yes, right? ]

[Larry chuckles.] Don't worry, I don't hold it against the players that killed me. I gave them that choice, after all!

[He sits back in his chair and considers the question. Is it nice? Is it free? Again, there's nuance.]

I can't say living here is any safer. We're brought back every time we die, so this place is kind of the same, but I'm told we lose our memories if we die too many times. That's not something I want to do. I don't want to lose myself.

In the end...it's just as dangerous here, but I don't walk into danger as readily as I used to.

[ Steve eyes the cast-aside bowl, but decides that reclaiming it would be too awkward at this point, so he'll just have to have the rest of this conversation with his arms crossed. It makes it look less like he doesn't know what to do with them. ]

Well— Welcome to life with consequences. Usually it's one and done. Gone, everything. For the people who were already living here it's still one and done, as far as I know, so I'm sorry if I get pissed at you for thinking the way you do.

[ No past tense, because it could very well happen again. ]

For the record, it makes more sense now. I don't like it, but it makes sense.

[Larry pouts.]

You don't need to explain that to me, Steve. My world existed inside a "real" one, like this one. It's...

[Larry trails off in a sigh. He squeezes his eyes shut as he lolls his head to the side, rubbing the upper crest of his snout with his fingers.]

I'm not a hero. I'm a protagonist... but not a hero. I have a litany of flaws. I'm perverse, underhanded, dim-witted, but most importantly: harmless. Not one part of me was built to be a threat in any sense of the word! I'm gentle, and when the credits roll, I just want to leave a positive impact on people -- real and fictional.

I'm not saying I've got it figured out, the one truly moral stance that makes sense of everything. This is just how my world view predispositions me to deal with all of this. This is how I cope.

That wasn't an explanation, that was for, er... what do you call it? [ Pause. ] Emphasis.

[ He uncrosses his arms for only as long as it takes to give an open-handed shrug. ]

No matter how you swing it, 'hee-hee, death is hilarious!' is going to be disturbing to me. That's fucked. You can't change my mind, but I'm willing to- I'm gonna go ahead and say, alright, you're not a psycho. [ Maybe. ] You came out of a cartridge, and that makes your whole shit different.

[ Steve makes a broad gesture at Larry, both hands tracing out the silhouette of his beavery-ness in the air and coming together in the middle. This is the olive branch. ]

You're fictional, point taken.

[Larry opens his eyes and looks at Steve. He lets out a sigh -- he regrets telling the truth, but he did ask for it.

Not that Steve really understands it -- or is at least regurgitating it in a way that captures how Larry actually feels. It's something between "hee-hee" and reciprocal schadenfreude -- not every death is funny, but he does enjoy watching any guy who wants to punch above his weight with Faith get punched with his own dismembered fist...knowing damn well that is, effectively, the position he would be in.

It's not hypocrisy. He prostrated himself before Lust when he first got here, after all, knowing full well she'd probably eat him, and only a small chance that she'd actually fuck him before that...and he'd still think it was funny, even though it would be his own death.

Maybe he can't expect a real person to truly understand. It seems useless to push the conversation to try to make Steve understand it, when it's probably fruitless anyway -- even if he understood it fully, he'd probably still feel the same way in the end.]

A floppy disk, actually, but the sentiment is the same.

[A beat.]

Please don't tell anyone about this...the coping mechanism, I mean. You're the only person I've ever told.

[ Steve sighs right along with Larry. ]

'Course not, buddy.

[ When you've got a history of confronting challenging emotions by exploding about them, and there's this big thing ( that starts with can and ends with nibalism) you've anxiously been avoiding talking about to any serious degree, and then this really swell charity worker who helped you get your footing on day one ( who you'd therefore began thinking of as one of the Good Guys ) suddenly says something that doesn't quite track with that?

Things. Things happen.

And now the vibe in here's all wrong. He stares at a knot in the wall, then looks back to his host. ]

And now I physically can't, because I'm giving you my word. I did read some of the monster manual or whatever, and I think that's how this works?

[It's weird for Larry too. He's not used to people blowing up on him like that. Being ignored? Sure. Being amicably shrugged off? Absolutely. Being calmly but rudely handled? Oh, all the time. But this? This is a new one for him.

Larry shrugs.]

I wouldn't know anything about--err, "oaths"? Other than passing mentions I've heard. Besides the endless need to craft, I haven't noticed anything else psychological--Oh!

[Larry taps at his chin with a claw as he glances askew, as if their conversation hadn't gone way south just a few seconds ago.]

Actually -- I just thought of something. I've always been a people-person, but I have this...ah, need, now. Go out and socialize, be with people, be around people. Now, normally I don't notice unless I'm alone for a few hours -- and this crushing loneliness sets in really fast!

[ Well, if Larry's content to dust off and pretend none of that happened, so is Steve. ]

Weird.

[ Some gears turn.

He's been working two jobs lately, living with a friend four floors over his head he's already naturally inclined to bother. Whether he's felt different when he actually finds himself alone, it's hard to say, when, really, he's been restless since the Fall of '84.

...

Suddenly, a hit on the mental search engine. ]

Does it matter who? [ He snaps his fingers a couple times. ] The other day I offered a ride to a guy covered in blood, and in hindsight I'd love to know why I just... did that? I thought I was being lenient, on account of the TAGE stuff, but... no, no, that was dumb.

Ehhh, I dunno about that. There's lots of reasons why someone might be covered in blood around here -- ranging the full spectrum of "victim", "perpetrator", and "completely innocent bystander"!

[Larry giggles.]

I can't say that I'd be any more compelled to pick up a hitchhiker than I had previously, but I wouldn't write it off, either. The specifics of the ways we change inside -- [He taps the side of his head] can be different, just like how our physical forms can be different, too. Related, but not exact.

[ Which is why you don't risk it! ]

Oh. Yeah, no, I don't picture you doing a lot of driving with those flippers in general. My concern was more like- like I was wondering if maybe our standards drop way down when there aren't many options for company around?

Mm...no, not really.

[He looks down at his feet and flexes his weird webbed hand-finger toes. Stop that, Larry. They're weird.]

Couldn't say! I never really had high standards to begin with. You never know where you'll find your next friend! Or drunkard at the bottom of his barrel with a handy item.

[video games]

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