He lets Lark move him around at will, straightening his back and glancing down to make sure that he doesn't fuck up his work. John knows what he's doing. He knows how to make it scar. He knows how to make it look good. Once it's healed, he'll scar it again- cross it through, cut it out. For now, he'll wear it.
Once he's satisfied that Lark's not going to do anything to mess up the lettering, he seems to relax.
"There is something here I desire," he says, keeping the story vague. If Jon's going to tell the other wardens about it, there's nothing John can do about it. "Desire more...anything I've ever wanted. Something that someone else wants."
"You're not my lawyer," he says, meeting that warning with a laughing tone of his own. He might not be a wolf, might not be alpha, but John's always been a predator.
"I am a warden, and I believe you deserve a space to confide without it going to other wardens," he retorts. "But you should know that I can sense lies, so you're better off just telling me when you don't want to answer something."
Or don't, his smirk says. The lies tell him plenty as well.
He glances over to his marks, to the bandages, and sighs. "I know." A bit of false contrition. Not quite a lie, not quite he truth. He's giving Lark what he thinks he wants, accepting it, deferring to him.
He throws the bloodied bandages away and motions for John to follow him. There's a basket of unfolded laundry on the stairs. "All right. Same question, then: what replaced God, even for the moment?"
"Most people would find that hard to live with day to day, no matter how faithful." But Lark is a man who has sacrificed two packs to his goals, and while he wouldn't do it again he certainly understands the ends justifying the means.
"The idea of sacrificing their brother. Even Abraham struggled a little to put Isaac on the altar." Somehow he thinks John is even more far gone than batshit old Abraham.
"Joseph would never want Jacob to sacrifice himself," he clarifies. "But Jacob - well, I told you about the war. About how we found him and he was nothing but a shell of himself."
He straightens the shirt and turns, intending on going back to retrieve his ruined shirt and his coat.
Those shells of men are where Lark builds his packs. He remakes people from the cellular level, and there's a part of him that wonders what sort of monster Jacob would have been.
"Hang on," while John gets his coat Lark gets him some gauze and nonstick pads so he can change the dressing. "Let me know if you need more but this should get you through."
"This should be fine," he assures him, putting on his coat and then sliding the gauze and bandaging into his pockets. "Thank you, Lark. And, for the record, you didn't ask as many questions as I thought you would."
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Once he's satisfied that Lark's not going to do anything to mess up the lettering, he seems to relax.
"There is something here I desire," he says, keeping the story vague. If Jon's going to tell the other wardens about it, there's nothing John can do about it. "Desire more...anything I've ever wanted. Something that someone else wants."
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But he doesn't know how much he wants to say.
"Something that someone else has, I mean. Something that was more important, in the moment, than God."
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"It's not important."
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Or don't, his smirk says. The lies tell him plenty as well.
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But quietly seething about it.
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He finds a dark t-shirt for him and hands it over.
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"To kill everyone," he says easily.
The farthest thing from a lie.
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It's not an answer and he knows it. But he can't make exceptions for anyone.
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He straightens the shirt and turns, intending on going back to retrieve his ruined shirt and his coat.
"He was going to do what he wants."
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"Hang on," while John gets his coat Lark gets him some gauze and nonstick pads so he can change the dressing. "Let me know if you need more but this should get you through."
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