unjustifiable | 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

[ By the time James finishes heaving up the contents of his stomach onto the already-filthy street, it's all over. There's a strange roaring in his ears. It drowns out the ambient noise of the city, as though everything beyond the mouth of the alley has vanished to some other plane.

He wipes his mouth on the back of a trembling hand and stares blankly at the gory tableau in front of him, looking but not really seeing. He doesn't hear Igarak call his name. The paladin seems to simply appear at his side like some ghastly apparition, rendered unfamiliar by the layer of blood and gore that covers him from head to foot. James stiffens. He eyes the mouth of the alley, but he doesn't run. It's not as though Igarak would let him get very far.

Is he hurt? He doesn't know. His whole body feels numb, though nothing seems to be spurting blood or bent at the wrong angle. He tries to say as much, but his mouth refuses to do as he wills it. Stymied, he shakes his head mutely. His eyes dart everywhere but to Igarak's face. ]

[ Reeling from adrenaline and bloodlust, it doesn't even occur to Igarak that James' reaction might have anything to do with him. It's not unreasonable to assume the man is simply overwhelmed. He said he was a clerk before all of this; he's likely never seen so much blood, let alone been covered in it.

Just in case an injury might have gone unnoticed in the chaos, Igarak kneels and lays a hand on his shoulder, intending to heal him. ]

[ The hand on his shoulder dispels the numbing fog that fills his head. When Igarak touches him, he forgets reason, tact, attachment, and all the other things that make him human; he is simply an animal trying to save its own skin. He flinches backwards out of the predator's reach, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. ]

No! Please, no.

[ He doesn't even know what he's begging for. As the seconds pass and Igarak fails to pounce on him, the adrenaline subsides enough for him to think again. He realizes what he must look like, cowering like a frightened child, and makes an effort to master himself. ]

I - I'm fine. I don't need anything.

[ He still can't look Igarak in the eye. He can't look at anything. The nauseating aftermath of the slaughter is everywhere, so he stares down at his boots. ]

[ Igarak jerks his hand away the moment James recoils. Understanding finally seeps through the fading blood haze. James is afraid of him.

Shame creeps in, cold and sickening. His gaze sweeps over the carnage. Letting the Bhaalists live would have been irresponsible, a betrayal of his oath, and his promise to himself. He shouldn't feel ashamed.

But maybe James saw in him what his other friends have either failed to see or chosen to ignore.

It's the sort of reaction he always expected from people. Fear, revulsion... Anything other than the blasé acceptance that usually meets the confessions of his dark thoughts and horrible misdeeds. Yet receiving it now...

It hurts.

Something twists low in his guts. He doesn't look at James as he wipes the blades clean on his pants and then reattaches them to his belt. There's a distinct strain to his voice when he speaks. ]

Come. Let's get back to the main road.

[ James knows in a distant, detached sort of way that he has no moral high ground to stand on. What a rank hypocrite he must seem, to snivel and cower at the sight of blood after what he's done with his own two hands. These people were vile, murderous cultists, after all. Mary was innocent. He has no right to be so horrified, but he still can't dispel the nausea that churns in his gut. He's never seen anyone take such pleasure in causing others pain. He keeps thinking back to that look on Igarak's face, the naked cruelty in it. He thinks about what it might be like to have that gaze turned on him. It's no less than he deserves.

Maybe he's a fool to be shocked by any of this. He knew that his friend was a Bhaalspawn, and he knew that there were dark things in his past, but he could never square either of those facts with what he had seen of Igarak's personality. As the two of them grew closer, he even started to wonder whether his friend had exaggerated his own culpability out of guilt. Now he knows better.

He also knows that he's hurt Igarak. The strain in his friend's voice speaks volumes. Apologizing won't help. Nothing can help. Feeling suddenly exhausted, he wipes his face with the cleaner of his two sleeves, grimacing when the fabric comes away sticky with drying blood. ]

All right.

[ His tone is flat and empty. The fading adrenaline leaves him numb. He just wants to get away from this alley and drink until he forgets what he saw. He turns to leave, ignoring the jolt of fear he feels when he turns his back to Igarak. ]

I can make it back on my own.

[ If James' fear stings, his dismissal twists the knife. Even so, Igarak isn't about to let him wander off on his own, out of sorts, covered in blood, and in no condition to defend himself. The Bhaalists may be gone, but that hardly means James is safe. In this state, he's a prime target for any number of unsavory opportunists. ]

No. We stay together. We can part ways once you're home.

[ As Igarak speaks, he tries to grab James by the shoulder on instinct, giving no thought to how the man might perceive the gesture. ]

[ This time, he doesn't flinch away from the hand that grips his shoulder. He just freezes. He stays like that for a moment or two, the rise and fall of his chest his only movement. With his hair matted with blood and his clothing torn and filthy, he cuts a pathetic figure. His gaze drifts slowly down to Igarak's knife, then back up to his face. The fear in his expression is obvious, but beneath it is something furtive and perverse. Awe, perhaps, or fascination. Whatever it is, it's gone in an instant.

James clears his throat and forces his muscles to unclench. He does not want Igarak to think that he's afraid of him, even though he is. ]

Right. Of course.

[ It occurs to him that he shouldn't let Igarak walk around the city looking like he just rolled around on a slaughterhouse floor. He swallows nervously, his adam's apple bobbing. This new awkwardness between them is unpleasant, but he doesn't know how to dispel it. ]

You should wash up once we get there. I have some fresh clothes you can wear. They'll be small for you, but we'll make do.

[ The fear in James' eyes is an echo of the fear he saw in the assassins', and the same twisted hunger coils low in him now. The response visibly sickens him. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to dispel the image from his mind. With effort, he pulls his hand from James' shoulder and steps back, gaze falling to the ground in shame. His voice is low as he gives a single nod. ]

If that's what you wish.

[ It's his way of telling James he needn't do anything for him. If he wishes to slam the door in his face once he's safe at home (safe from Igarak), he can do so. It's what Igarak deserves. ]

[ Igarak is looking at him like he's a piece of meat. James' mouth is dry. If he were smart, he'd run, but he doesn't want to run. The messy end he has wished for and dreaded lies within arm's reach. He can almost feel the kiss of the knife and the agony that follows, but then Igarak pulls away. The spell is broken.

James stands there in silence for a moment, his mouth slightly open. He feels hot and cold all over, like he's in bed with a fever on the verge of breaking. ]

Uh. We should really get going.

[ On that hideously awkward note, he turns and leads the way to the abandoned house that he's been living in since Igarak pulled him out of the harbor. The walk seems to take longer than usual. He jumps at every shadow, the familiar scenery rendered somehow sinister. By the time they reach his front door, he's feeling strung out and exhausted. After fumbling with the key for a few seconds, he pushes the door open to reveal a small front room, empty save for a few rickety wooden chairs and a threadbare sofa by the hearth. ]

Make yourself at home. I'll fetch the washbasin.

[ Igarak follows, quietly casting a frost spell over the burning alley as they leave it behind. The flames hiss as they go out, but the quiet left behind does nothing to settle him. The more he tries not to think about what just occurred, the more it circles his mind, so he does what he always does when dark thoughts plague him: he clings to his oath, reciting its tenets over and over in his head. By the time they reach James' door, he has no idea how many times he's recited them. All he knows is that he still feels wretched.

He nods mutely when James says he'll fetch the basin. When the man moves deeper into the house, Igarak stands there as though he doesn't quite know what to do with himself. He could sit on the sofa, he thinks, but the idea of being still is unbearable. His skin is crawling, his mind too loud.

He wouldn't hurt James. He knows he wouldn't. He knows. He's never hurt any of his friends, not even in the worst moments, not even when Bhaal's influence twisted his thoughts and tried to force his hand. He always resisted. He always fought. Whatever shadows remain inside him, they will not rule him. But James doesn't know that.

And maybe Igarak doesn't really know it, either. He had given in tonight, after all, willingly letting his darker impulses take over while fighting those Bhaalists--and he had enjoyed it.

When James returns, he'll find Igarak pacing restlessly, shoulders hunched, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His tail whips anxiously behind him. Under his breath, he mutters his tenets again. ]

[ A few minutes later, James returns with the basin, a few clean-ish scraps of cloth, and a bucket of water from the well outside. He deposits the basin on one of the wooden chairs and fills it with water from the bucket, trying not to stare at Igarak as he does so. This isn't the first time he's seen his friend absorbed in some inner struggle, but tonight Igarak seems particularly tense, as though whatever he's fighting against were on the verge of winning. Despite the fear that still stalks him like his own shadow, James feels a painful jolt of sympathy for the man. ]

We'll just have to burn these clothes. I doubt the stains will ever come out.

[ He winces at how shaky his voice sounds, but there's nothing for it. Igarak already knows that he's a coward. He gets to work unlacing his doublet, anxious to rid himself of the blood-soaked clothes. As he does so, he sneaks a glance at Igarak. His expression is a strange medley of trepidation, concern, and curiosity. ]

Did it feel good?

[ Even before the words leave his mouth, he knows that he's made a horrible mistake. ]

What?

[ Igarak stops in his tracks and turns to look at James with wide, startled eyes. He replays the question in his head to make sure he didn't misunderstand or miss some crucial piece of context, but no. He heard correctly.

So, that was it. James had seen something in him--the vile thing that others overlooked or refused to acknowledge. It should feel like validation, shouldn't it? Proof that someone finally understands the danger he poses? The darkness that can never be fully expunged? Yet the realization only renews the sickening ache in his stomach and chest.

He frowns, looking away again, voice clipped. ]

Surely you already know the answer, or you wouldn't have asked.

[ After all, who asks such a terrible question unless they already believe the worst? ]

Edited 2025-12-08 00:38 (UTC)

[ For a few seconds, James just stands there frozen with one hand tangled in the laces of his half-open doublet. His better judgment urges him to apologize for the question and try to pretend like nothing happened, but he can't stop thinking about what happened in that alley. It's a scab he can't stop picking, a bruise he keeps pressing just to feel it ache. ]

I guess I needed to hear it from you. To make sure I wasn't imagining things.

[ Even now, that surreal feeling still lingers. The fire, neglected during his absence, has died down to a few glowing coals. Igarak is little more than a horned silhouette in the dim light. James wonders what it would be like to see that figure creeping up on him in the dark and know that death was near. He tells himself that Igarak won't hurt him, but his pulse quickens all the same. Spurred on by morbid curiosity, he blurts out another stupid question. ]

Have you always liked hurting people?

[ The question needles him. His glare whips back to James, and he snaps before he can stop himself. ]

I don't like hurting people!

[ Even as the words leave his mouth, he knows it's a lie, and he knows that James will hear it for what it is. His jaw clenches. He squeezes his eyes shut, forcing a long, steadying breath through his nose to keep his temper from boiling over. He always intended to tell James more about himself, but this is not his he imagined it.

No--he tells himself he intended to, but deep down he knows he simply stopped feeling the need to... and now look where that's gotten him.

When he opens his eyes, he's still glaring, but the anger is pointed inward now. His next words are more subdued and somewhat strained. ]

I don't... want to like hurting people.

[ Igarak's anger rattles James' overtaxed nerves. His involuntary flinch says more than words ever could. He's treading dangerous ground, and he knows it. A little more needling, and Igarak might very well run out of patience. Maybe part of James wants that. He's had it coming for quite a while.

He doesn't respond to the admission immediately. Without bothering to finish undressing, he takes a seat on the sofa and stares into the fire. There's enough room for Igarak to sit down beside him if he so chooses. After a while, he finds the courage to speak. ]

When I... [ He forces himself to say it. ] When I killed Mary. [ The words hang in the air for a second, stark and horrible. ] I felt... like I watched myself do it. Like I was standing outside my own body. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't.

[ He shakes his head, his face ashen underneath the dried blood. ] Or maybe that's just another excuse. I don't know. I suppose I'm trying to say that... I know what it feels like to lose control.

[ Igarak watches James but doesn't join him, choosing to keep space between them. He saw that flinch. James is still afraid of him. Maybe he always will be. The thought weighs on him, a heavy, inescapable knot of sadness and shame passing into his chest.

When James mentions Mary, though, Igarak finds himself moving towards the sofa anyway, knowing how difficult the subject is. He hesitates there, unsure whether his presence will make things better or worse, before at last lowering himself to the cushions. He puts as much distance between them as the space will allow, making himself as small and unimposing as possible. He doesn't even think about the blood on him and or the stains he'll inevitably leave on the sofa; blood feels as natural on him as his own skin.

His tail rests beside him, the tip twitching every now and then by his feet. He stares first at the fire, then drops his gaze to his hands clenched into tight fists on his thighs, claws digging sharply into his palms. Several more moments pass before he speak, his voice hollow when he does. ]

That wasn't me losing control.

[ He could have stopped, if he'd wanted to. But the truth is he hadn't wanted to. ]

That was just... me.

[ James looks sharply over at Igarak. His eyes are bright in the firelight. Feverish. ]

What about when you saved my life? Wasn't that you? Hells, you saved this whole city. Wasn't that you, too?

[ For all his lingering fear of the man, he hates the way Igarak shrinks away from him. He can't help but feel like he's somehow undermined the trust that's been built up between them. Worse, he's hurt someone he cares for. ]

I won't lie to you because you've never lied to me. What I saw tonight shook me. I don't claim to know what kind of darkness you fight against. But I don't think you're a monster.

[ They're nice words, but James knows all too well that words only mean so much. He reaches out to place a trembling hand on the other man's shoulder, just as Igarak had done for him on the night they met. ] I still want you here. With me.

[ The sentiment is kind. It should afford Igarak some reassurance... yet when James talks about his role in saving the world, he visibly flinches, and tension coils beneath the man's touch when he lays a hand on his shoulder.

Igarak gives James a sidelong look, then drops his gaze again. ]

Before you commit to that, there are other things you must know about me.

[ James winces at that flinch, but he doesn't move his hand. He inches closer to Igarak on the sofa, as though he were trying to approach a skittish animal. He thinks of that night by the harbor again, of the patient way that Igarak consoled him. ]

Then tell me. It won't change how I feel.

[ Igarak wants so badly to lean into the touch, but he won't let himself. Instead, he remains rigid in his spot, bracing for certain rejection. His stomach twists, as it always does when he's admitting the dark truths about himself, only this time the anxiety runs deeper. He and James didn't spend months battling side by side in life or death situations. They did not share the nightmare of being afflicted with a mind flayer parasite. As far as Igarak is concerned, there's no reason for James to feel any kind of loyalty towards him, beyond his misplaced sense of debt.

He isn't even sure where to begin... but perhaps his status as the supposed 'savior of the city' is as good a place as any. He takes a breath and releases it slowly. ]

The reason the city needed saving in the first place is because of me. I was part of the Absolute plot. One of its architects, in fact.

[ He keeps his gaze on the fire as he speaks, refusing to see whatever expression might be waiting on James' face. ]

I don't know all the details. I have... amnesia. What I do know is the person I was before wholly embraced Bhaal's will.

[ James is very lucky that Igarak can't see the look on his face. He just sits there, gobsmacked and speechless, turning the words over and over in his mind in the vain hope that he's misunderstood their meaning. He tries to imagine Igarak pacing some shadowy room, plotting domination on a massive scale, but the image feels almost comical in its absurdity. He can't reconcile that man with the man he knows.

But he has to try. He has to accept this. Not because he owes Igarak a debt, but because he cares for him. His hand remains on Igarak's shoulder, but the gesture might be more reassuring if he could stop himself from trembling. ]

You must have killed a lot of people.

[ There's nothing accusatory in his tone. It's just a blunt statement of fact. ]

You saved a lot of people, too. Even if you only did it out of guilt, you still saved them. They're alive now because you. I am alive because of you.

[ He tries to catch Igarak's eye. Strangely enough, he's no longer afraid. Shocked, yes, but not afraid. ]

Do you still feel like the same person you were before?

[ James' trembling grip tells Igarak everything he needs to know. He's upset. Frightened still, perhaps even angry. The exact feelings don't matter; the result is the same. James is unhappy with him. As difficult as it is, there's a strange, almost weary relief in the idea that someone might finally hold him accountable for his sins.

So when James' next words offer not condemnation but reassurance, Igarak is blindsided.

He's quiet for a time, until at last turning to look at James in stunned silence. He's never understood why others are so willing to forgive the unforgivable when it comes to him. Once, it made him angry, made him think everyone was a fool, offering their hands to a rabid dog. These days he's grateful... but no less bewildered by it.

James saw something in him that frightened him today. But he must also see something in him greater than that.

Remembering he'd been asked a question, he swallows against the dryness in his throat, then shakes his head in uncertainty. ]

I can't know for sure. I get flashes of memory every now and then, and what I see is worse than anything you saw today. It sickens me.

But I can't pretend it wasn't me who did those things... or that the capacity for cruelty doesn't still exist within me.

[ Almost against his own will, James imagines what it might be like to find himself bound to an altar in some reeking charnel pit, unable to move or even cry out as a familiar horned figure advanced upon him, dagger raised. Would Igarak kill him quickly? Or would it be drawn-out and agonizing? He tries to banish the thought, but it leaves behind a woozy feeling, like vertigo. ]

If I had met you before you... started over, would you have...

[ He loses his nerve midway through asking the question. This isn't how he wanted this to go. He should be consoling his friend, not indulging his sick curiosity. ]

I'm sorry. That was - [ An uncomfortable pause. ] Inappropriate. I know talking about this is difficult for you.

[ A faint crease forms between Igarak's brows. As he studies his friend's blood-spattered face, the thought slips in, unbidden, that James wears it far too well. He forces himself to look away. ]

I'll answer anything you ask. But... you don't truly want the answer to that, do you?

[ James holds Igarak's gaze. The dim light turns his hazel eyes dark, like two chips of obsidian set into his skull. Other than the rise and fall of his chest, he's perfectly still. That odd sensation of vertigo remains. He feels like he's back at the top of the bridge, working up the nerve to jump. ]

Yes. I do. I want to know.

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