Quoted By:
"Or—" You point. "—or I'm supposed to <span class="mu-i">redeem</span> you. That's it. You are mired in the dark pits of despair, and I, using my impressive levels of kindness, will pull you from there, metaphorically— and <span class="mu-i">that's</span> why you think I'm so terrible. Because it's a painful process, you know, becoming a nicer and better person. And <span class="mu-i">then</span> we can do the guidance exchange, and you'll learn all about how to like me more, and I'll learn how to get people to like me. Appreciate me. I said appreciate, because people already like me. Also I can learn how do the nightmare dimension thing."
«This seems equitable.»
Yes! Thank you. Monty is less impressed: he is leaning far back into his chair, thinking. "You're supposed to redeem me, Charlotte?"
You have read about this extensively, though it was never your favorite twist (you tended to prefer the villain destroyed via their own backfiring scheme). This shows all the signs, though. "Well, yes."
"Where did you get this idea?"
"...I have done a considerable amount of research via literary methods?"
"A-ha." He sucks in a cheek. "Constance used to— I know what you're talking about. It's the sort of thing where someone despicable gets a change of heart, yes? And he realizes his actions were wrong, and tries to make amends, and experiences love and <span class="mu-i">impressive</span> levels of kindness. And maybe he slips up here or there, but it's a steady climb uphill besides that, and at the very end the universe rewards him with a beautiful woman. And then he's redeemed and a good person and it's over."
Something is fishy here, but this is all factually true. "Uh, yes, that's the one."
"It's a nice story. It's very simple. You're bad, and feel bad, so you do good things, and then you feel good and are good."
"Well," you say tentatively, "it's important to have a moral, or people will get confused."
"And we wouldn't want that, would we? We wouldn't want bad people to do good things and discover that it's difficult. And more than it's difficult it's <span class="mu-i">endless.</span> If you stop being good, your whole house of cards collapses. You have zero benefit of the doubt. Not that you warrant any, because you have been a bad person for a long time and the habits don't just go away. All you can do is ignore them. And you have to ignore them when you're exhausted, when you're sick, when you're beaten down, when you're out of patience, because a good person doing something bad is an abberration; you doing something bad is a reversion to form."
Richard has rehomed himself to your lap, which he spills out of. You stroke his neck uncomfortably.
"Moreover," Monty says, "there's no such thing as a <span class="mu-i">reward.</span> There's no such thing as justice. Nobody gives a shit about your moral balance sheet except you. Or, in an alternate take, God cares a whole lot, and if you die at the wrong time you're just about screwed. Because you're in Hell, and nobody cares if you redeem yourself in <span class="mu-i">Hell.</span> Except, again, you."
(4/5)
