( john — or, rather, the Eye, if one wants to be technical, though the boundaries between the two get more and more ambiguous with each passing week — may feed on fear, but what he really preys upon is heroism. by its very nature it is a heroic and self-sacrificing act, to reopen mental and emotional wounds that one might prefer remain dormant and untouched, all to potentially save a stranger that selfsame internal harm. he does not take them for granted. he doesn't want to. he wishes he had something more to give him, and especially those in Meridian who took more of a risk giving what some might perceive as personal vulnerabilities away to the "enemy."
very few of the people who had given him their nightmares knew what it would do to them afterwards. would it have changed their mind if they knew? would it change his mind? should he tell him? he — he should. he knows he should. but whenever he considers it, the scenario that plays out in his mind grows indistinct; trying to imagine how it might play out feels like trying to grasp sand.
the Eye doesn't want a potential meal to escape. and... as much as he feels a guilt for his partial obfuscation of what his first volunteer is agreeing to, he doesn't want him to change his mind either. even though the acknowledgement of this sits heavy in the hollow of his chest, inert as a leaden weight.
there are few around and even fewer passing by the park with any intention of staying there, so when dimitri arrives and approaches, john feels relatively certain that this is his man. he stands (perhaps a little too quickly, a little too eager), and — Christ, this young man is tall. ) I - yes. Jonathan Sims, but, please, John is fine. A pleasure to meet you.
( he extends a hand to shake. it's not something he particularly likes doing, and one reason might become apparent enough if dimitri decides to take it: his palm is marked with a deep burn scar, and the shape of it perfectly matches the curve of a shaking hand.
but this is his first volunteer, and he wants to be polite. ) I, ah, only realized just a few moments ago that I was remiss in asking for your name, before...
( he's trying to ignore the eye-patch. they always make the Eye nervous — so they make him nervous as well. )
no subject
very few of the people who had given him their nightmares knew what it would do to them afterwards. would it have changed their mind if they knew? would it change his mind? should he tell him? he — he should. he knows he should. but whenever he considers it, the scenario that plays out in his mind grows indistinct; trying to imagine how it might play out feels like trying to grasp sand.
the Eye doesn't want a potential meal to escape. and... as much as he feels a guilt for his partial obfuscation of what his first volunteer is agreeing to, he doesn't want him to change his mind either. even though the acknowledgement of this sits heavy in the hollow of his chest, inert as a leaden weight.
there are few around and even fewer passing by the park with any intention of staying there, so when dimitri arrives and approaches, john feels relatively certain that this is his man. he stands (perhaps a little too quickly, a little too eager), and — Christ, this young man is tall. ) I - yes. Jonathan Sims, but, please, John is fine. A pleasure to meet you.
( he extends a hand to shake. it's not something he particularly likes doing, and one reason might become apparent enough if dimitri decides to take it: his palm is marked with a deep burn scar, and the shape of it perfectly matches the curve of a shaking hand.
but this is his first volunteer, and he wants to be polite. ) I, ah, only realized just a few moments ago that I was remiss in asking for your name, before...
( he's trying to ignore the eye-patch. they always make the Eye nervous — so they make him nervous as well. )