Awful nice of you. Do you need a hand? [She makes a grabby motion to an unwashed cloth.] I'm up in the theater. Me and my clown troupe haven't tackled our confetti and cobwebs yet.
No use fighting it. Our first order of business was to crown our clown king. [Leaning in, low voice, confidential.] Be sure to genuflect should you pass his Highness Alfyn Greengrass in the town square.
[Ah. The dog. Camille smiles and quickly gloms onto the next turn in conversation, dutifully rinsing her rag.]
Well that's mighty kind of you. What a gentleman. I may take you up on that if you're not careful.
[Where should she begin. Camille pauses. Then wrings the cloth the other way, squeezing doubly hard.]
Last year I was asked to return to my hometown by my newspaper. A little girl was murdered a year prior, and another went missing a day or two ago. When I get down there, I have to stay with my family, including a sister twenty years my junior who I barely knew and couldn't recognize.
On my second day there the other girl turned up dead in an alley. All her teeth were pulled out. Turned out the last girl had the same thing done to her.
[She grins bitterly at the stream. Unwinds the rag, shakes it, and puts it on the clean pile.]
Long story short, they pin the crime on my mother. I take custody of baby sister, I take baby sister to Chicago with me, along with her replica dollhouse built to match our Southern plantation maison.
She makes a friend. Friends pisses her off. Then the friend goes missing. They find her dead, also missing six teeth.
[Now her fingers are crooked in into the taut stretch of her jeans. Painful pressure points just above the knee. Nowhere near satisfactory. But safe.]
I ripped the house apart and found the teeth, broken in bits to mould the ivory floor of my estranged mother's tiny doll bedroom. I called the cops on her and had to let them haul her off.
She's incarcerated now. Will be for a long time, even if she's only 14.
[ He's silent for a little while, listening with mounting illness in the small of his gut.
Camille already said the sister was a baby, twenty years her younger -- and yet, the reiteration of this kid being only fourteen really drives it all in.
After a moment, he wipes his hands dry on the thighs of his pants and then carefully, slowly reaches for her wrist, a soft placement of his hand over it if Camille lets him to get her to ease off. ]
Hey, easy...
It sounds like you had a traumatic experience. I'm sorry for that.
THEY WILL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU it is safe to slep ((cw: self harm))
[She tenses at the touch, looking down. Her sleeve hasn't ridden up.
But he might feel it through the shirt regardless. Raised skin. Hacksawed lines all under his palm and fingers, the pattern of which may be hard to discern.]
...I've had time to think it over. I'm better about it now. Sober, too.
I'll go for a rather plain sharing rather than embellishments... I think we could both do just fine without me trying my "best shot".
[ He sighs... ]
...Eihner von Dutch is... was a wealthy baron in the Kingdom of Rondon. And my father-in-law. Elise, his daughter, and the woman I married.
I originally worked for them. They took me in when I had nowhere else to go... and that would have been quite fine -- but somehow, she deigned to court me, and despite me not being born into wealth whatsoever, the baron also gave us his blessings.
[ He speaks soft. It's probably the most... it's not emotional, but there's a fragile tenderness in there that he usually lacks. Those were some of the best years of his life... but it's only brief before his tone falls back to its usual register. ]
The war involved Rondon too, eventually. So I left to serve. Field medic if you're curious -- the baron taught me all I know about medicine. It let me escape the infantry... though pity on anyone who had the unfortunate experience of being looked over by me. [ It's war. It's never for good reasons if you do. ] She sent me letters, of course. They were just about the only things keeping me sane in a place like that.
...
And then they stopped. I know letters often get lost or never make their destination in a place like that, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
The war ended recently. Or at least peace talks were established, and I was permitted to return home. Obviously I returned to the manor in Rondon as fast as I humanly could.
There wasn't a single soul to be seen. No servants, no guests... I'd had half a mind that they moved while I was away. I wish that had been the case.
[ A heavy pause here, clearly unwilling to talk about it but -- Camille pushed herself pretty hard to talk, so he forces himself to too, despite the tendrils of despair edging his voice. ]
Basement. I found them dead. The baron covered in lashes and cuts. Self-inflicted.
A ritual circle, and -- Elise's body, too. I-I tried anything to bring her back.
[It plays the same beats as so many historical tragedies. The second he says he's off to war she knows the score. Either he's fucked or she is. Another man enters the picture, his troupe gets sent to some wretched fate.
But the ending still pulls the rug from under her.]
He sacrificed his own daughter?
[He had references to the occult in his profile. Maybe she should have anticipated the twist. The idea is grisly even so, and a rotten shock for a honeymooner besides.
She has questions. Many of them. But this isn't a tale she's supposed to hear, and it's certainly not something meant for her to pick apart. She isn't following a lead, she's hearing out a man as lost and wounded as she.
It's her turn to reach out. She takes his hand in hers, thumb brushing the knuckles. Is he still wearing the ring?]
Daan, I'm sorry. That's beyond the pale. I don't know...I don't think anyone one would know what to do in your shoes.
[ It's hard to discern his tone, probably because he himself doesn't know how to feel about it. Anger? Despair? Either way, it's an extraordinary amount of fresh grief and a clear loss of knowing what to do, how to feel about that.
Mods said I can have the ring so I can fully consider my options but given what his canon is like he's probably taken it off. It's not on his hand right now. She might be able to see a thin string around his neck disappearing under his collar though, puts it there instead. ]
...
Not very long...
I guess it must be... a little over a week ago I found the bodies.
[ Having to sort out the time in his head since he's been here a few days already. Everything's been a pretty bad blur. ]
[One week. That's not nearly enough time. Her other hand comes to his back, rubbing soft between his shoulders.]
It's a wonder you're not in pieces. I couldn't...I'm so sorry Daan. Really.
[There's no ring that she can see. Maybe it's better that way. Some people prefer to keep the tethers to the dead. Others like to excise them from sight.
The string behind his collar shifts, and she wonders if maybe he's not somewhere in between the two.]
Would it help to talk more about her? Or we can drop it. Up to you.
[ He just takes the comforting gesture because there's no reason to deny it, but he doesn't respond much either. Everything's happened so fast that he's not actually had the time to really process it, and comfort was certainly off the table, too.
... ]
She was everything to me, of course...
[ Beautiful, curious. A light in his dour life. But he does find it difficult to talk about her in the context of the memory he's just shared, that sight still fresh behind his eyes. ]
...Just bad news, one after the other. Can't seem to get a break, no matter where we go.
[Probably good she's not a hugger then. Especially not with men she's just met.]
The world's a fucked up place. There's a lot of nasty stuff waiting around the corner for all of us. [Maybe some people skate by just fine. There are those who get less of an ass-kicking by Lady Luck and turn around to wonder why everyone else seems so pissed off all the time. It's easy for me, why wasn't it for you?] But there's good things in it too. Sounds like she was one-of-a-kind.
[ Him just man-standing between Iwatooshi and Rondo being like DO YOU WANT A HUG at him post-sadness poll. ]
...She was.
[ It's still grief, but it's just slightly softer. Elise... he wonders if he does feel lighter, actually talking about it. She's probably the first person he actually has told.
In his case, it's barely been any time, but for Camille... she said she was sober, at least. ]
I pray you've found some moment of respite after everything.
[Camille eases off on the back patting, though she doesn't let go of his hand.]
My editor, Curry — him and his wife Eileen took me in. Made sure I kept clean, kind of re-parented me. Which is...I know that sounds strange at my age, but um. [She shakes her head.] They've given me everything I needed. I owe them my life.
[She pauses.]
I hope you've got good people around you Daan. Back home and here. It's not impossible to get by without, but a hell of a lot easier with.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I meant — nevermind. Local turn of phrase.
[Anyway.]
Awful nice of you. Do you need a hand? [She makes a grabby motion to an unwashed cloth.] I'm up in the theater. Me and my clown troupe haven't tackled our confetti and cobwebs yet.
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[ Sure, he'll hand her a cloth. He wouldn't normally make her but he suspects she'd like the distraction and busywork just as much. ]
We're pretty crowded in there... eight and a dog. Everyone's pretty eager to get the place livable though, so I think we're alright.
Could help you with yours, though. I remember finding a lot of things in there last I looked. All those rotten balloons.
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[Ah. The dog. Camille smiles and quickly gloms onto the next turn in conversation, dutifully rinsing her rag.]
Well that's mighty kind of you. What a gentleman. I may take you up on that if you're not careful.
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Sure... I'll be sure to take the knee.
[ Apparently Karma is mad he didn't get to be king is all I know about this chaos. ]
It's something to do, and the more your quarters are clean and organised, the more at ease people might be. Think we could all use that right now.
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[She swirls the rag in the water, pulling it out. Wringing firmly. The silence takes over and they can listen to the wind sing balefully overhead.
At last, she murmurs.]
You think maybe confessing our sins might make the writing go away?
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[ Not. Gonna lie. The fucking teeth statement was so wack even for his canon standards that he WILL low-key think about it for a while.
That being said he doesn't really want to talk about his deal that much. But. ]
...
Are you religious? Just wondering.
...
I don't know, but I suppose anything is worth a shot these days.
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In the small town South, everyone's religious. Even when they aren't.
[She gets it though. She's had some time to at least ease her demons, untackled though they may be. His may be more recent. Maybe more ferocious.]
If it makes you feel better I can go first.
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[ They have fantasy Italy and it is as religious as the actual Italy. ]
...Sure. If you don't mind. Gives me time to figure out where to begin.
bro do you even sleep ((also huge spoilers for Sharp Objects MYSTERY))
[Where should she begin. Camille pauses. Then wrings the cloth the other way, squeezing doubly hard.]
Last year I was asked to return to my hometown by my newspaper. A little girl was murdered a year prior, and another went missing a day or two ago. When I get down there, I have to stay with my family, including a sister twenty years my junior who I barely knew and couldn't recognize.
On my second day there the other girl turned up dead in an alley. All her teeth were pulled out. Turned out the last girl had the same thing done to her.
STOP IT'S ONLY 130
His expression is sober, a mild grimace as she talks about the murder of a young girl. Unpleasant, that... ]
...And you... found them?
CHLOROFORMS YOU ANYWAY
[She grins bitterly at the stream. Unwinds the rag, shakes it, and puts it on the clean pile.]
Long story short, they pin the crime on my mother. I take custody of baby sister, I take baby sister to Chicago with me, along with her replica dollhouse built to match our Southern plantation maison.
She makes a friend. Friends pisses her off. Then the friend goes missing. They find her dead, also missing six teeth.
[Now her fingers are crooked in into the taut stretch of her jeans. Painful pressure points just above the knee. Nowhere near satisfactory. But safe.]
I ripped the house apart and found the teeth, broken in bits to mould the ivory floor of my estranged mother's tiny doll bedroom. I called the cops on her and had to let them haul her off.
She's incarcerated now. Will be for a long time, even if she's only 14.
MY KABBY TAGS
Camille already said the sister was a baby, twenty years her younger -- and yet, the reiteration of this kid being only fourteen really drives it all in.
After a moment, he wipes his hands dry on the thighs of his pants and then carefully, slowly reaches for her wrist, a soft placement of his hand over it if Camille lets him to get her to ease off. ]
Hey, easy...
It sounds like you had a traumatic experience. I'm sorry for that.
THEY WILL ALWAYS BE HERE FOR YOU it is safe to slep ((cw: self harm))
But he might feel it through the shirt regardless. Raised skin. Hacksawed lines all under his palm and fingers, the pattern of which may be hard to discern.]
...I've had time to think it over. I'm better about it now. Sober, too.
this comment header takes me out
He leaves his hand there, quiet. ]
...The von Dutches... they're dead.
In a rather... dark way.
Are you fine with hearing that?
I remembered last minute
Hit me with your best shot. I'll be fine.
no subject
I'll go for a rather plain sharing rather than embellishments... I think we could both do just fine without me trying my "best shot".
[ He sighs... ]
...Eihner von Dutch is... was a wealthy baron in the Kingdom of Rondon. And my father-in-law. Elise, his daughter, and the woman I married.
I originally worked for them. They took me in when I had nowhere else to go... and that would have been quite fine -- but somehow, she deigned to court me, and despite me not being born into wealth whatsoever, the baron also gave us his blessings.
[ He speaks soft. It's probably the most... it's not emotional, but there's a fragile tenderness in there that he usually lacks. Those were some of the best years of his life... but it's only brief before his tone falls back to its usual register. ]
The war involved Rondon too, eventually. So I left to serve. Field medic if you're curious -- the baron taught me all I know about medicine. It let me escape the infantry... though pity on anyone who had the unfortunate experience of being looked over by me. [ It's war. It's never for good reasons if you do. ] She sent me letters, of course. They were just about the only things keeping me sane in a place like that.
...
And then they stopped. I know letters often get lost or never make their destination in a place like that, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
The war ended recently. Or at least peace talks were established, and I was permitted to return home. Obviously I returned to the manor in Rondon as fast as I humanly could.
There wasn't a single soul to be seen. No servants, no guests... I'd had half a mind that they moved while I was away. I wish that had been the case.
[ A heavy pause here, clearly unwilling to talk about it but -- Camille pushed herself pretty hard to talk, so he forces himself to too, despite the tendrils of despair edging his voice. ]
Basement. I found them dead. The baron covered in lashes and cuts. Self-inflicted.
A ritual circle, and -- Elise's body, too. I-I tried anything to bring her back.
no subject
But the ending still pulls the rug from under her.]
He sacrificed his own daughter?
[He had references to the occult in his profile. Maybe she should have anticipated the twist. The idea is grisly even so, and a rotten shock for a honeymooner besides.
She has questions. Many of them. But this isn't a tale she's supposed to hear, and it's certainly not something meant for her to pick apart. She isn't following a lead, she's hearing out a man as lost and wounded as she.
It's her turn to reach out. She takes his hand in hers, thumb brushing the knuckles. Is he still wearing the ring?]
Daan, I'm sorry. That's beyond the pale. I don't know...I don't think anyone one would know what to do in your shoes.
How long ago was this?
no subject
[ It's hard to discern his tone, probably because he himself doesn't know how to feel about it. Anger? Despair? Either way, it's an extraordinary amount of fresh grief and a clear loss of knowing what to do, how to feel about that.
Mods said I can have the ring so I can fully consider my options but given what his canon is like he's probably taken it off. It's not on his hand right now. She might be able to see a thin string around his neck disappearing under his collar though, puts it there instead. ]
...
Not very long...
I guess it must be... a little over a week ago I found the bodies.
[ Having to sort out the time in his head since he's been here a few days already. Everything's been a pretty bad blur. ]
no subject
[One week. That's not nearly enough time. Her other hand comes to his back, rubbing soft between his shoulders.]
It's a wonder you're not in pieces. I couldn't...I'm so sorry Daan. Really.
[There's no ring that she can see. Maybe it's better that way. Some people prefer to keep the tethers to the dead. Others like to excise them from sight.
The string behind his collar shifts, and she wonders if maybe he's not somewhere in between the two.]
Would it help to talk more about her? Or we can drop it. Up to you.
no subject
... ]
She was everything to me, of course...
[ Beautiful, curious. A light in his dour life. But he does find it difficult to talk about her in the context of the memory he's just shared, that sight still fresh behind his eyes. ]
...Just bad news, one after the other. Can't seem to get a break, no matter where we go.
no subject
The world's a fucked up place. There's a lot of nasty stuff waiting around the corner for all of us. [Maybe some people skate by just fine. There are those who get less of an ass-kicking by Lady Luck and turn around to wonder why everyone else seems so pissed off all the time. It's easy for me, why wasn't it for you?] But there's good things in it too. Sounds like she was one-of-a-kind.
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...She was.
[ It's still grief, but it's just slightly softer. Elise... he wonders if he does feel lighter, actually talking about it. She's probably the first person he actually has told.
In his case, it's barely been any time, but for Camille... she said she was sober, at least. ]
I pray you've found some moment of respite after everything.
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Yeah. Yeah, more or less.
[Camille eases off on the back patting, though she doesn't let go of his hand.]
My editor, Curry — him and his wife Eileen took me in. Made sure I kept clean, kind of re-parented me. Which is...I know that sounds strange at my age, but um. [She shakes her head.] They've given me everything I needed. I owe them my life.
[She pauses.]
I hope you've got good people around you Daan. Back home and here. It's not impossible to get by without, but a hell of a lot easier with.
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[ ... ]
Many of you here have been quite kind. Yourself included.
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Yeah, well. Curry always says I'm a soft touch.
[The way he is saying this hours before being voted Saddest Man.]
Don't go spreading that around though. I'd hate for people to see past my stony exterior too quick.
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