Whalers. That's. He hangs on that word a moment too long, scrutinizing how mundane it sounds, what a normal and banal word for a group of murderers. A gang, that's the word Daud had used. It makes them sound almost, almost harmless, until one thinks about the occupation of a whaler, and who the whales are in this case. Chilling.
A chilling detail that doesn't fit this man, this person who sits so peaceably with him, with whom conversation flows with the same complexity and ease as the Tappan Zee. Twenty years is a little lifetime, though, and this was almost a lifetime ago, wasn't it? Maybe, maybe he ought to be grateful that he never met the person Daud used to be.
Finds himself grateful this is the man he knows, this person who put distance for fear of succumbing to an old calling like an addiction. He knows there's strength in denying what the innermost self desires, in struggling day after day after unending day to turn away from temptation. He knows he has weaknesses of his own he couldn't put out of his own mind, couldn't bury in his past if it became necessary.
He's sitting across from one.
There's a lot. This is a lot. One of those situations that requires more time, more consideration, because the words he has to give have heft to them that could devastate. Ludo considers, briefly, that he should address the past and work up to the present, but the problem (I'm in trouble) is more immediate and deadly than just a criminal history.
Daud is struggling with something, right now, and that matters more than what moral offense Ludo might take at the rest of the tale. So, so, he focuses his attention on that. Draws another deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of his own shoulders before he shifts, resting his forearms, crossed, on the table.
"You mean Katrina's husband." Not a question, exactly. Just an assumption made without all of the proper information.
This started with the Van Tassel girl's marriage; he had noticed that. Daud sat outside with her, talking for a long while the last time she visited. And he knows from churchyard gossip that Katrina did the unthinkable and married an older man instead of Brom Bones, a foreigner, an outsider. Must be her husband, then. Maybe the man before him is trying (or not trying, or hoping) to color his impulses with noble intent, to 'save' Katrina. (He would laugh, if this were a situation for laughing; that girl never needed saving a day in her life. Between those sky-blue doe eyes and her ability to hit where she aims with a musket, he almost feels sorry for Treavor Pendleton.
It's a thought for later. Something to bring Daud back to laughter, when -
When?
Isn't "if" a better word?
If Daud can't turn away from killing, could Ludo turn away from him?
Sometimes, it's easy to get too deep. How does that story go? I thought you said there was a bottom, said the man sinking in the swamp. There is, said the boy. You just haven't reached it yet.)
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A chilling detail that doesn't fit this man, this person who sits so peaceably with him, with whom conversation flows with the same complexity and ease as the Tappan Zee. Twenty years is a little lifetime, though, and this was almost a lifetime ago, wasn't it? Maybe, maybe he ought to be grateful that he never met the person Daud used to be.
Finds himself grateful this is the man he knows, this person who put distance for fear of succumbing to an old calling like an addiction. He knows there's strength in denying what the innermost self desires, in struggling day after day after unending day to turn away from temptation. He knows he has weaknesses of his own he couldn't put out of his own mind, couldn't bury in his past if it became necessary.
He's sitting across from one.
There's a lot. This is a lot. One of those situations that requires more time, more consideration, because the words he has to give have heft to them that could devastate. Ludo considers, briefly, that he should address the past and work up to the present, but the problem (I'm in trouble) is more immediate and deadly than just a criminal history.
Daud is struggling with something, right now, and that matters more than what moral offense Ludo might take at the rest of the tale. So, so, he focuses his attention on that. Draws another deep breath, feeling the rise and fall of his own shoulders before he shifts, resting his forearms, crossed, on the table.
"You mean Katrina's husband." Not a question, exactly. Just an assumption made without all of the proper information.
This started with the Van Tassel girl's marriage; he had noticed that. Daud sat outside with her, talking for a long while the last time she visited. And he knows from churchyard gossip that Katrina did the unthinkable and married an older man instead of Brom Bones, a foreigner, an outsider. Must be her husband, then. Maybe the man before him is trying (or not trying, or hoping) to color his impulses with noble intent, to 'save' Katrina. (He would laugh, if this were a situation for laughing; that girl never needed saving a day in her life. Between those sky-blue doe eyes and her ability to hit where she aims with a musket, he almost feels sorry for Treavor Pendleton.
It's a thought for later. Something to bring Daud back to laughter, when -
When?
Isn't "if" a better word?
If Daud can't turn away from killing, could Ludo turn away from him?
Sometimes, it's easy to get too deep. How does that story go? I thought you said there was a bottom, said the man sinking in the swamp. There is, said the boy. You just haven't reached it yet.)