Thursday night reminded me of something, you know?
That final evening, when I reached for the Moon Tower. I only remembered a brief moment of darkness, then waking up here. But then I recalled the whispering voice, a mask held to my fingers.
[The one that brought his wife back as a stitched up horror show. She thinks of his books. The bare glance she took at the contents. All sorts of wretched curses and transformations.
She thinks of what she saw of Marina's.
She thinks of Elise.
She thinks of that purring, wretched voice. It makes her want to vomit.]
Is that really the only choice left to you? Daan, come on.
I could be choosing death. And that, well. I didn't want that. Darling Karlach... if she hadn't told me she loved me, hadn't asked me to stop her... but who am I to deny a loved one their peace and long-term happiness?
Oh, not romantically, she told me that much. I think that iron cowboy's had her heart since the first day. I do love and respect such loyalty. The only sad thing about her living is that she won't get to be together with him.
[Camille closes her mouth. Covers her face. What she really wants is to scream. It's the most words she's ever heard from him outside of a fit. Does this even matter? The sequence of events? Nitty gritty details?
What he did or didn't feel for Karlach?]
...I just...Fuck you. Fuck you, really and truly. I can't fucking believe you.
You're all so insistent on that. Almost insulting, actually, like you couldn't believe I could smile a day in my life.
But no. Daan. Daniël. Or neither of these things. Whatever you want to call me. What's in a name? Even my own parents couldn't keep that story straight.
I think you could smile beautifully without the mask on.
[Never did see it. But he had the muscles in him. She imagines they're atrophied, hanging limp in the sad turn of his frown. So much about him implies erosion. It's like watching someone on life support wander around without the IV drip. He was exhausted, miserable. But a good man. Or he'd wanted to be once.]
I wouldn't trust your parents with a hard-boiled egg, much less a kid. No offence. [One of a few things they had in common.] Did this start there? This thing that's been whispering to you, was it with you as a kid?
[ ...He hums, but doesn't finish that thought, actually. ]
Sure. I haven't been keeping track really, but it may as well be for as long as I can remember. Yellow eyes, always around the bend, in the shadow of the woods...
[She swallows. Easy now. Don't lose your cool again. It never ends well for you, and definitely not for him.]
So it was always coming for you. [She presses her thumbnail into the palm of her hand. A bright and shallow sting.] That can't have been easy, having something tailing you all the time.
Why does night follow day? Why did the Baron kill Elise and then himself? Why did I find the same sign on their flooring in Prehevil? Why did my mother and father leave?
Not all questions get an answer. And they never will.
Though, maybe if wherever I go, it's always there, then the problem is myself and it lies in me.
[The finger nail scrapes and draws no blood. Just scratching imaginary itches. It's not enough. What's in the camp ground proper? She never went up to the radio tower.]
...That pit lies in all of us. Anyone can slip down it, if they're not careful. If things don't let up.
[And they never did for Daan. Camille's pressing her lips together, moving forward.]
It's not that you're the problem, Daan. You're not just the horrible things that have happened to you. And you weren't born to be a problem. Nobody gets to pick their starting ground. They don't control the things that other people do.
You kept choosing to try finding something better. It's nothing wrong with you Daan, it's the world you were living in. You needed a way out.
[ He tilts his head a little bit. His entire face distorts with it, the slight change in gravity, blank hare eyes staring back at her. Nothing behind that glassy stare, but almost carefully so. ]
[Her eyes meet that herbivore vacuity with a shitty sort of serenity. If she gets anything she wants from this conversation — the last conversation — she'll be a damn lucky woman.
Yet she'll keep scraping the stone wall he's thrown up with her fingers. Her teeth. Bones. She'll be here until morning if she has to. Scrambling for the leftover crumbs.]
Why bother? I'll be dead on the morrow. Never seen anyone break the Sunday pattern, after all. Or are you hoping that I'll confess to you in this sanctity where it's just us, alone? Describe the crime, how I felt when I came to with a corpse under my hands? Lay myself bare before the fire and let me whisper every sin and degeneracy I've long held onto into your ears over the barrier of fire? Tell you all about the person that barely ever was?
You know, I really did consider it. I could have killed you. I would have killed you, set you free of your misery and guilt. I would have been as gentle as I could with it. If only you'd say yes.
[She recalls, suddenly the way her mother seized her one of her first nights back in Wind Gap. Traced the bare spot on her back, where her razors couldn't comfortably reach.
"The only place you have left. Someday I'll carve my name there."
Would it have been setting her free? Or simply more marks on a body? New ones she didn't get to choose. It wouldn't be her death: it would be his murder. She'd slip away under the deed and he'd go on holding court, talking circles around former friends. Then he'd die, and their bodies would disappear, but everyone would remember Daan and his mania, and how sweet he'd been before. People liked the shock of a killer better than the tragedy of a victim.
She should know. She's lived with both.]
Once was enough. And Rondo took very good care of me. Thank you for your consideration.
I don't get it though. Izutsumi? [She knows her own killing was happenstance. Cloud grabbed the drugged drink and painted the bullseye on his own back. Where does skittish, testy Izutsumi fit into this?] Did she say something to you too?
I don't know. It's all a blur. Such a long week...
That weekend you were set free, I saw him again. Yellow eyes. It was only for a half-day, but he'd returned nonetheless. It was like I was reminded, opened that particular floodgate, and I kept turning his phrases over and over since then.
Then that... Thursday adventure. He returned. Asked if I'd give my finger in exchange to save Pickles. Always in my periphery. You know, it didn't matter in the end -- I had to kill Pickles myself to "win" the tournament, save Karlach's life instead. And look where that got me. Isn't that funny? I really can't crawl out of this fucking pit, Camille.
[ You love, and you lose. That's what you do to others. ...But he digresses. ]
Those yellow eyes stayed, even after I'd returned. Followed me even when I stayed up past the usual hour. I thought, maybe that was it for me. Then it's all really a blur from there. Yellow eyes, fear. Next thing I know, there's a corpse under me, but it's not of the cat I wanted to see dead.
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That final evening, when I reached for the Moon Tower. I only remembered a brief moment of darkness, then waking up here. But then I recalled the whispering voice, a mask held to my fingers.
I'd just been about to accept.
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[The one that brought his wife back as a stitched up horror show. She thinks of his books. The bare glance she took at the contents. All sorts of wretched curses and transformations.
She thinks of what she saw of Marina's.
She thinks of Elise.
She thinks of that purring, wretched voice. It makes her want to vomit.]
Is that really the only choice left to you? Daan, come on.
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I could be choosing death. And that, well. I didn't want that. Darling Karlach... if she hadn't told me she loved me, hadn't asked me to stop her... but who am I to deny a loved one their peace and long-term happiness?
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The rest doesn't.]
Daan, lay it out to me straight or don't lay it out at all. What happened?
Are you saying she confessed to you? Thursday? Yesterday?
[He's not her partner, is he?]
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[ He hums. ]
But it doesn't matter, does it? Love is love.
[ PRIDE WILL NEVER BE OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ]
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I meant about the murders. Did she...
[Camille closes her mouth. Covers her face. What she really wants is to scream. It's the most words she's ever heard from him outside of a fit. Does this even matter? The sequence of events? Nitty gritty details?
What he did or didn't feel for Karlach?]
...I just...Fuck you. Fuck you, really and truly. I can't fucking believe you.
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Oh? Now we've moved onto disparage? Suppose I'd take them over a scalpel in the neck, but keep at it long enough and it'll really start hurting...
You can ask your questions, Ms. Preaker, but you'll have to be clear about them.
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Oh, okay. Okay, sure. Sure.
[She laughs. Throws her hands down, inhales. Seething.]
You want an interview? Let's go for it. Starting question: What's your name? You don't sound like a "Daan" anymore.
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But no. Daan. Daniël. Or neither of these things. Whatever you want to call me. What's in a name? Even my own parents couldn't keep that story straight.
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[Never did see it. But he had the muscles in him. She imagines they're atrophied, hanging limp in the sad turn of his frown. So much about him implies erosion. It's like watching someone on life support wander around without the IV drip. He was exhausted, miserable. But a good man. Or he'd wanted to be once.]
I wouldn't trust your parents with a hard-boiled egg, much less a kid. No offence. [One of a few things they had in common.] Did this start there? This thing that's been whispering to you, was it with you as a kid?
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[ ...He hums, but doesn't finish that thought, actually. ]
Sure. I haven't been keeping track really, but it may as well be for as long as I can remember. Yellow eyes, always around the bend, in the shadow of the woods...
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So it was always coming for you. [She presses her thumbnail into the palm of her hand. A bright and shallow sting.] That can't have been easy, having something tailing you all the time.
Why did it pick you?
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Why does night follow day? Why did the Baron kill Elise and then himself? Why did I find the same sign on their flooring in Prehevil? Why did my mother and father leave?
Not all questions get an answer. And they never will.
Though, maybe if wherever I go, it's always there, then the problem is myself and it lies in me.
no subject
...That pit lies in all of us. Anyone can slip down it, if they're not careful. If things don't let up.
[And they never did for Daan. Camille's pressing her lips together, moving forward.]
It's not that you're the problem, Daan. You're not just the horrible things that have happened to you. And you weren't born to be a problem. Nobody gets to pick their starting ground. They don't control the things that other people do.
You kept choosing to try finding something better. It's nothing wrong with you Daan, it's the world you were living in. You needed a way out.
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And yet, that seems to make you unhappy too.
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[She comes closer. Hands splayed to the barrier.]
I'd like to see your face, Daan. May I please?
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I don't think I want you to, Ms. Preaker.
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Yet she'll keep scraping the stone wall he's thrown up with her fingers. Her teeth. Bones. She'll be here until morning if she has to. Scrambling for the leftover crumbs.]
What would happen if I did?
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What do you get out of that?
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[She doesn't move.]
Even if it's wasted, there are worse ways to waste it than with you.
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You're nothing that low, Daan. Not to me.
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You know, I really did consider it. I could have killed you. I would have killed you, set you free of your misery and guilt. I would have been as gentle as I could with it. If only you'd say yes.
cw: self harm mention, abusive parents
"The only place you have left. Someday I'll carve my name there."
Would it have been setting her free? Or simply more marks on a body? New ones she didn't get to choose. It wouldn't be her death: it would be his murder. She'd slip away under the deed and he'd go on holding court, talking circles around former friends. Then he'd die, and their bodies would disappear, but everyone would remember Daan and his mania, and how sweet he'd been before. People liked the shock of a killer better than the tragedy of a victim.
She should know. She's lived with both.]
Once was enough. And Rondo took very good care of me. Thank you for your consideration.
I don't get it though. Izutsumi? [She knows her own killing was happenstance. Cloud grabbed the drugged drink and painted the bullseye on his own back. Where does skittish, testy Izutsumi fit into this?] Did she say something to you too?
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I don't know. It's all a blur. Such a long week...
That weekend you were set free, I saw him again. Yellow eyes. It was only for a half-day, but he'd returned nonetheless. It was like I was reminded, opened that particular floodgate, and I kept turning his phrases over and over since then.
Then that... Thursday adventure. He returned. Asked if I'd give my finger in exchange to save Pickles. Always in my periphery. You know, it didn't matter in the end -- I had to kill Pickles myself to "win" the tournament, save Karlach's life instead. And look where that got me. Isn't that funny? I really can't crawl out of this fucking pit, Camille.
[ You love, and you lose. That's what you do to others. ...But he digresses. ]
Those yellow eyes stayed, even after I'd returned. Followed me even when I stayed up past the usual hour. I thought, maybe that was it for me. Then it's all really a blur from there. Yellow eyes, fear. Next thing I know, there's a corpse under me, but it's not of the cat I wanted to see dead.
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