Maybe he should have expected that. Should have anticipated how quickly Ludo would bring together the pieces, how he might draw some conclusion and how that conclusion might not quite meet its mark. (Had Daud really been so transparent? It’s possible. He hasn’t been as cautious as he could be, lately. Hasn’t been entirely himself, at all. And Ludo’s more observant than most. (More observant, perhaps, of Daud than most. Another thought not wholly unpleasant, though its flickered warmth is out of place here, now.))
Better not to let the misconception linger. Daud watches Ludo for a moment, giving himself half a moment to reconsider before he moves ahead.
“His father.”
He’s… tired. He hadn’t intended to bring names into this. Had thought they might be better avoided, because there’s no good - is there? - in Ludo knowing of the Pendletons’ involvement. (Is there danger in this knowledge? Or only discomfort? It can’t be more disquieting than what Ludo’s already heard. Perhaps the trouble is that this isn’t only Daud’s knowledge to tell; that it involves Katrina, as well. Doesn’t matter much, now; the name’s been spoken, the truth has been set forth.)
“I don’t know if her husband had anything to do with it. Whether he knew. Whether he acted.” Most likely the man had known and sat silent. Known and done nothing. From everything Daud’s heard, Treavor Pendleton’s an ineffectual coward to the core. (What was it Katrina had suggested so recently? Something otherwise, though Void knows she could be fooling herself.)
“The elder sons took the daughter.” Had done Daud can’t say what with her, and had been well-remarked for their cruelty even in Dunwall, but hadn’t Daud been plenty cruel? (Hadn’t Daud been the one to strike Jessamine down before her daughter’s eyes?) In any case, that isn’t the point. Or it is - the family wouldn’t call for death if they didn’t continue to inflict damage at each turn - but it might seem a way of attempting to excuse himself. So, no, he won’t say that, but he can’t stop there, and so—
“‘Emily’ was her…” Was her name. Is her name. Is a name difficult to speak, but easier always than her mother’s. “Emily Kaldwin.” For what it’s worth. For what it matters here and now. For the little light that it might shed for Ludo.
He’s looking around the room again, trying to discern a path toward some clarity, some answer, some way of easing the edge on all of this, only no, that wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right, and there’s no way of telling it that doesn’t wound. Some stories are like that. Some truths are like that.
“The Pendletons must have fled Dunwall when the coup failed. That Katrina should have ended up wedded to one of them…” It isn’t that fate’s cruel; Daud doesn’t believe in fate, or anything of its ilk. Certainly, it isn’t right. Isn’t deserved. And it can’t possibly end well.
But that isn't the point. That isn't the focus here, and Daud shakes his head. “It was Melville Pendleton who paid me."
no subject
No.
Maybe he should have expected that. Should have anticipated how quickly Ludo would bring together the pieces, how he might draw some conclusion and how that conclusion might not quite meet its mark. (Had Daud really been so transparent? It’s possible. He hasn’t been as cautious as he could be, lately. Hasn’t been entirely himself, at all. And Ludo’s more observant than most. (More observant, perhaps, of Daud than most. Another thought not wholly unpleasant, though its flickered warmth is out of place here, now.))
Better not to let the misconception linger. Daud watches Ludo for a moment, giving himself half a moment to reconsider before he moves ahead.
“His father.”
He’s… tired. He hadn’t intended to bring names into this. Had thought they might be better avoided, because there’s no good - is there? - in Ludo knowing of the Pendletons’ involvement. (Is there danger in this knowledge? Or only discomfort? It can’t be more disquieting than what Ludo’s already heard. Perhaps the trouble is that this isn’t only Daud’s knowledge to tell; that it involves Katrina, as well. Doesn’t matter much, now; the name’s been spoken, the truth has been set forth.)
“I don’t know if her husband had anything to do with it. Whether he knew. Whether he acted.” Most likely the man had known and sat silent. Known and done nothing. From everything Daud’s heard, Treavor Pendleton’s an ineffectual coward to the core. (What was it Katrina had suggested so recently? Something otherwise, though Void knows she could be fooling herself.)
“The elder sons took the daughter.” Had done Daud can’t say what with her, and had been well-remarked for their cruelty even in Dunwall, but hadn’t Daud been plenty cruel? (Hadn’t Daud been the one to strike Jessamine down before her daughter’s eyes?) In any case, that isn’t the point. Or it is - the family wouldn’t call for death if they didn’t continue to inflict damage at each turn - but it might seem a way of attempting to excuse himself. So, no, he won’t say that, but he can’t stop there, and so—
“‘Emily’ was her…” Was her name. Is her name. Is a name difficult to speak, but easier always than her mother’s. “Emily Kaldwin.” For what it’s worth. For what it matters here and now. For the little light that it might shed for Ludo.
He’s looking around the room again, trying to discern a path toward some clarity, some answer, some way of easing the edge on all of this, only no, that wouldn’t be fair, wouldn’t be right, and there’s no way of telling it that doesn’t wound. Some stories are like that. Some truths are like that.
“The Pendletons must have fled Dunwall when the coup failed. That Katrina should have ended up wedded to one of them…” It isn’t that fate’s cruel; Daud doesn’t believe in fate, or anything of its ilk. Certainly, it isn’t right. Isn’t deserved. And it can’t possibly end well.
But that isn't the point. That isn't the focus here, and Daud shakes his head. “It was Melville Pendleton who paid me."