[ oda’s an idiot, but not when it comes to this. he notices dazai’s expression change and he hesitates. does he want to hurt dazai more than he usually does just by existing?
he looks away, and sighs. ]
The book I was given was the third and final one of a series. Mm, the man I met didn’t want me to read it at first—he said it was the worst out of all of them. But when I kept insisting, he told me this:
“Then you write it. That is the only way the novel can retain its completeness. Writing novels is about writing people. How people live and how they die. The way I look at it, you have that qualification.” That was what that man told me the day I met him.
[ oda fidgets a little, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. ]
For someone like me, who had only been able to kill, something like that shook my world. I never thought I could do something besides murder...much less write about life. Even now... I still don’t know what that man saw in me.
He saw right down to your very soul, to the part of you that was waiting for a chance to break out and grow.
[Dazai looks like he has something else on his mind though, something he is comparing to Oda's story there. He hesitates in telling it, though, because it's a very personal story and he's not sure if he's ready to share it.
...but maybe it will help Oda too, to hear that his experiences are common. That Dazai understands having your worldview shaken like that.]
...I met someone, some time ago. It was after I was already in the Foundation. Before that point, I tended to keep to myself. I was a D-class, and befriending other D-class agents meant watching a lot of them die on missions. There was no point to it. All I could do was work and work until I eventually died too.
But on one mission, I met someone. That person was...their life had been so, so horrible, even before they came to this world. And yet they talked about it like it was nothing. They stayed positive, even when just hearing their story was enough to bring me to tears.
You know, if someone like that person could go through so much and still keep going, then I didn't really have much of a position to whine about my lot in life. Not when I could make a difference just by acting.
[ oda listens to dazai’s story closely. he takes in every word, expression unchanging as he imagines just how lonely this dazai must have been. isolating himself as a means to protect himself from the pain of loss— he understands it, if only just a little.
and the person he’s describing also piques oda’s interests a lot. it’s so vague, and he knew so little about the other agents that surrounded him, that it doesn’t ring any bells for him as to who this person’s identity could be. but that didn’t matter to oda—not nearly as much as the effects they had on this dazai. ]
I see. [ he smiles. ] I’m glad... that someone had that effect on you.
[ but then he pauses, a sudden curiosity overcoming him. ] What... happened to that person? If you don’t mind saying?
They're still alive and well, for now. It's hard to keep in contact at the moment, but I hope to see them again when this game is over. Of course, we both have to survive our respective missions until then, but I have that hope.
Maybe I should introduce you two, when this is over. They might be an interesting subject for you to write about.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
he looks away, and sighs. ]
The book I was given was the third and final one of a series. Mm, the man I met didn’t want me to read it at first—he said it was the worst out of all of them. But when I kept insisting, he told me this:
“Then you write it. That is the only way the novel can retain its completeness. Writing novels is about writing people. How people live and how they die. The way I look at it, you have that qualification.” That was what that man told me the day I met him.
[ oda fidgets a little, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. ]
For someone like me, who had only been able to kill, something like that shook my world. I never thought I could do something besides murder...much less write about life. Even now... I still don’t know what that man saw in me.
no subject
[Dazai looks like he has something else on his mind though, something he is comparing to Oda's story there. He hesitates in telling it, though, because it's a very personal story and he's not sure if he's ready to share it.
...but maybe it will help Oda too, to hear that his experiences are common. That Dazai understands having your worldview shaken like that.]
...I met someone, some time ago. It was after I was already in the Foundation. Before that point, I tended to keep to myself. I was a D-class, and befriending other D-class agents meant watching a lot of them die on missions. There was no point to it. All I could do was work and work until I eventually died too.
But on one mission, I met someone. That person was...their life had been so, so horrible, even before they came to this world. And yet they talked about it like it was nothing. They stayed positive, even when just hearing their story was enough to bring me to tears.
You know, if someone like that person could go through so much and still keep going, then I didn't really have much of a position to whine about my lot in life. Not when I could make a difference just by acting.
no subject
and the person he’s describing also piques oda’s interests a lot. it’s so vague, and he knew so little about the other agents that surrounded him, that it doesn’t ring any bells for him as to who this person’s identity could be. but that didn’t matter to oda—not nearly as much as the effects they had on this dazai. ]
I see. [ he smiles. ] I’m glad... that someone had that effect on you.
[ but then he pauses, a sudden curiosity overcoming him. ] What... happened to that person? If you don’t mind saying?
no subject
Maybe I should introduce you two, when this is over. They might be an interesting subject for you to write about.