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."
"It's your body. You have a right to do with it whatever you want." The moment, the second it starts to hurt someone else without their consent, though, he'll spring on John like a fucking leopard.
John knows that. He knows that because Lark had almost done it when he sensed that John had hurt Carol. He isn't afraid of Lark or the consequences that come from it, but he is aware.
"Yes," he tells him. Then, after a moment, he adds- "And I wouldn't have to use a blade if I had ink."
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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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"Yes," he tells him. Then, after a moment, he adds- "And I wouldn't have to use a blade if I had ink."
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He will make sure of that.
Tighten the belt. Forcefully cut out what's already there if he has to. He'll do whatever he needs to keep from slipping again.
"Thank you, Lark." He gives him a nod before he turns to go.
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