"There’s a meadow I still go back to. It’s just a meadow—with, sometimes, a stranger, passing through, the occasional tenderness, a hand to my chest, resting there, making me almost want to touch something, someone back." — Carl Phillips, 'Falling'
It's several hours before he finds himself approaching Ludo's door.
Several hours spent gazing at the stars, curled in on himself beside a blazing (and never, never warm enough) fire. Several hours thinking over every word he hadn't said. Several hours thinking on Ludo's invitation and what it might be to accept, to once more share a room with the man for more than five flustered minutes.
It's been difficult, lately. Everything's been difficult since Katrina was married off to that family and since Daud came close - closer than he cares to know - to killing off her husband. The thought of murder hasn't left his head since, the very real prospect has lingered close, and he's felt himself itch, felt himself ache with how easy it'd be to just end the bastard, end the whole of his family, and go back to being what he's spent all these years running from. He'd like to think he isn't that man anymore, but lately doubts have fallen fast and heavy. Because it would be easy. Because he could do it to free her.
Which conjures a question of whether he's changed at all. Of whether he's been fooling himself this entire time, thinking he'd begun to find a life here in Sleepy Hollow, thinking he'd found a place to stay, a place where he could be a better man and lead a less perilous life. A place where he could truly build himself all over again, never mind what he once might have done, never mind those memories that still scream themselves through his worst dreams. Maybe all of that was only fond thinking. Maybe all of that...
It could all end tonight. It might, if he dares to speak, tell Ludo what the man damned well deserves to know (but only if he wants to hear; what was it Katrina had said? that it shouldn't be... what, an unburdening? that Ludo has to wish to know, can't be forced to hear what he's not ready for). It could end, if Ludo takes the revelation poorly (and who could blame him? Daud wouldn't dare; will only accept whatever judgment may be leveled). This could be the last Daud sees of Sleepy Hollow, a dash through the snowy night and the half-moon, one more town he's visited and been compelled to leave behind.
Well. If that's what comes, that's what comes. He's... He doesn't like to think that it could happen (have faith in him, Katrina had said, and Daud does, he does, only faith doesn't stop fond dreams from crumbling), but thinks he ought to be prepared for the worst. He'll survive whatever happens. He always does.
Daud arrives without word, a sharp double-rapping in the door. The sound rings more confidant than he feels. Far more confidant, and while its reverberation dig into his skin, he feels that he'd be best to turn tail now, save this for another day, for no day, keep these secrets buried and give himself the grace of this, this... ignorant acceptance.
No. It isn't fair.
It's been good to linger in Ludo's favorable estimate, but the man ought to know what he's dealing with. Should have been given the chance to know months ago, but there's no good dwelling on missed opportunities or poor choices. No, the only way forward is to offer the information. Is to offer himself up, set forth what he was and hope against hope (no, that also isn't fair to Ludo; he's right to hope for mercy in the man, or it isn't so far-fetched to think) that he won't find himself driven off.
So he waits, wan as he's been for weeks and feeling half-untethered from himself, the night's chill weaving its way across his spine.
for ludo
just a meadow—with, sometimes, a stranger, passing
through, the occasional tenderness, a hand to my chest,
resting there, making me almost want to touch something,
someone back."
— Carl Phillips, 'Falling'
(continued from this thread.)
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It's several hours before he finds himself approaching Ludo's door.
Several hours spent gazing at the stars, curled in on himself beside a blazing (and never, never warm enough) fire. Several hours thinking over every word he hadn't said. Several hours thinking on Ludo's invitation and what it might be to accept, to once more share a room with the man for more than five flustered minutes.
It's been difficult, lately. Everything's been difficult since Katrina was married off to that family and since Daud came close - closer than he cares to know - to killing off her husband. The thought of murder hasn't left his head since, the very real prospect has lingered close, and he's felt himself itch, felt himself ache with how easy it'd be to just end the bastard, end the whole of his family, and go back to being what he's spent all these years running from. He'd like to think he isn't that man anymore, but lately doubts have fallen fast and heavy. Because it would be easy. Because he could do it to free her.
Which conjures a question of whether he's changed at all. Of whether he's been fooling himself this entire time, thinking he'd begun to find a life here in Sleepy Hollow, thinking he'd found a place to stay, a place where he could be a better man and lead a less perilous life. A place where he could truly build himself all over again, never mind what he once might have done, never mind those memories that still scream themselves through his worst dreams. Maybe all of that was only fond thinking. Maybe all of that...
It could all end tonight. It might, if he dares to speak, tell Ludo what the man damned well deserves to know (but only if he wants to hear; what was it Katrina had said? that it shouldn't be... what, an unburdening? that Ludo has to wish to know, can't be forced to hear what he's not ready for). It could end, if Ludo takes the revelation poorly (and who could blame him? Daud wouldn't dare; will only accept whatever judgment may be leveled). This could be the last Daud sees of Sleepy Hollow, a dash through the snowy night and the half-moon, one more town he's visited and been compelled to leave behind.
Well. If that's what comes, that's what comes. He's... He doesn't like to think that it could happen (have faith in him, Katrina had said, and Daud does, he does, only faith doesn't stop fond dreams from crumbling), but thinks he ought to be prepared for the worst. He'll survive whatever happens. He always does.
Daud arrives without word, a sharp double-rapping in the door. The sound rings more confidant than he feels. Far more confidant, and while its reverberation dig into his skin, he feels that he'd be best to turn tail now, save this for another day, for no day, keep these secrets buried and give himself the grace of this, this... ignorant acceptance.
No. It isn't fair.
It's been good to linger in Ludo's favorable estimate, but the man ought to know what he's dealing with. Should have been given the chance to know months ago, but there's no good dwelling on missed opportunities or poor choices. No, the only way forward is to offer the information. Is to offer himself up, set forth what he was and hope against hope (no, that also isn't fair to Ludo; he's right to hope for mercy in the man, or it isn't so far-fetched to think) that he won't find himself driven off.
So he waits, wan as he's been for weeks and feeling half-untethered from himself, the night's chill weaving its way across his spine.