"It's something I need to do, but I don't want to," he tells him firmly. "It was easier when I had Ishwari with me. Easier before they fucking killed my daughter."
Need and want are two very different things. Lark won't pretend even for a moment that they aren't, and that need trumps want every time. "Is everyone in the organization to blame for that? Or are there people who would never murder a child?"
He smirks. Go ahead and keep dodging the real answer, Pagan, he has all the time in the world. "Because fewer people to kill means more free time for you?"
Pagan, at this moment, knows what the answer should be. He knows what's reasonable and logical.
He does not go that way.
"Then I would give then a hearty 'I told you so' from the other side of the gun. They're nothing more than idiotic pheasants, these Golden Path rebels. Down to the very last soldier."
"Fair enough," Lark says, clearly not buying what Pagan is selling. "But a complete waste of time and resources. If you tried that on me, I'd have you over a barrel by the end of the year."
"All right," he stands. His voice is soft with thought. "Just know that I wasn't trying to offend you. I'm trying to understand without putting words in your mouth."
Which is not the same thing as not knowing there are words there already that Pagan is not saying
Pagan stares at the floor and then stands up, pacing his room. "I know I should let them off, should - oh fuck, I don't know. The little ones. The soldiers. The ones that don't matter. They deserve to go home to their families, don't they?"
He sets his jaw. "But I want them to pay. Because no amount of bloodshed, no amount of anger, no amount of revenge, will give me what I want. And that should be my answer, shouldn't it? But god, it feels good to put a bullet in them. Like I'm fulfilling some purpose. Like I'm doing something I should have done."
"Why 'should have done'? What do you see that killing peasants would have changed?" There's no judgment, for once but even Lark pitching at a loose thread. He just needs to hear Pagan speak.
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He does not go that way.
"Then I would give then a hearty 'I told you so' from the other side of the gun. They're nothing more than idiotic pheasants, these Golden Path rebels. Down to the very last soldier."
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"You think so? Well, you wouldn't be on that side, Lark."
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"Yes."
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Which is not the same thing as not knowing there are words there already that Pagan is not saying
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"No, no. Don't leave."
He knows he's being difficult, but he tears his fingers through his hair. Annoyed, but not at Lark. At himself. As always.
"I don't know what to do, Lark. Tell me what to do."
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"Breathe deep. And just talk. It doesn't have to make sense. Let it contradict itself."
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He sets his jaw. "But I want them to pay. Because no amount of bloodshed, no amount of anger, no amount of revenge, will give me what I want. And that should be my answer, shouldn't it? But god, it feels good to put a bullet in them. Like I'm fulfilling some purpose. Like I'm doing something I should have done."
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