Small, insubstantial comfort, to hear that it's not the man to whom Baltus gave his daughter. Yes, of course Ludo feels some pity for Katrina for having been married into a family like the one Daud is describing, but there's a more practical reason for his concern to take root and grow: the Van Tassels own something close to ten thousand acres of property in and around Sleepy Hollow. Their farm is one of the foremost sources of food, of beer, of livestock, of work in the county, and Katrina stands to inherit it all.
By proxy, so does her husband. A man who, if he is anything like Katrina has occasionally lamented within Ludo's hearing, is absolutely useless. If his family is truly the sort of folk who would arrange a coup, pay for an assassination, abduct a child...he wonders if Daud knows just how dangerous it would be for this sleepy little community, once the farm came into Katrina's possession.
He keeps that to himself. Now isn't the time for that sort of derailed focus; it's something to address with Baltus, later, and/or with Katrina, herself, so she knows just how dire the situation is not only for herself, but for everyone.
Instead, he allows Daud to finish, watching as the other man makes half-faltering, trailing-off statements, wishing he could reach over and lay a comforting hand on his wrist. Wishing comfort was something he could stand to offer right now, much as he wants to. Abducting a child...
Abducting a child. It almost sits worse than the thought of Daud killing.
He takes it in stride, always in stride, giving no condemnation in tone or look or movement. Reminds himself this was years ago, another lifetime. The problem is now, the problem is the threat of violence that took root in Daud's mind. The problem is, Daud thought putting distance between himself and those with -
Care. Devotion. Feeling.
For him. Would somehow help the situation, rather than draw loneliness around him like a cloak. That being so removed from those who would give him good advice and comfort would make it an easier reality, or a less present one, or something more manageable. (There are other questions, a multitude of questions, things that can wait because the night is long and he's not going anywhere.
He doesn't have anything better to do.
Doesn't have anyone else he would rather be with, no matter how deadly the conversation seems.)
His exhale is slow, a heavy sound that is and isn't a sigh.
"I can't tell you what to do about this." He could try. He could ask him not to walk out the door, not to go looking for the person he used to be, to stay here and be the person Ludo knows. But that's a selfish ask. It has nothing to do with Daud's struggle, and everything to do with the way the room feels, the air feels, how his chest is too wooden to allow his lungs to expand. How his heart is a hammer without an anvil, an unsteady pounding against nothing. "And this is more to work with than just one night can give me."
That. Is very true. But winter nights are long, and winter is long, and he doesn't have anywhere else he wants to be than sitting here.
"I can say..." It's his turn to trail off, uncertain how to carve something useful out of this fragment. He tries, anyway. "The world has had enough destruction and loss in it for both of us. I don't need more." I need, I need - This isn't about what he needs. "Do you?"
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By proxy, so does her husband. A man who, if he is anything like Katrina has occasionally lamented within Ludo's hearing, is absolutely useless. If his family is truly the sort of folk who would arrange a coup, pay for an assassination, abduct a child...he wonders if Daud knows just how dangerous it would be for this sleepy little community, once the farm came into Katrina's possession.
He keeps that to himself. Now isn't the time for that sort of derailed focus; it's something to address with Baltus, later, and/or with Katrina, herself, so she knows just how dire the situation is not only for herself, but for everyone.
Instead, he allows Daud to finish, watching as the other man makes half-faltering, trailing-off statements, wishing he could reach over and lay a comforting hand on his wrist. Wishing comfort was something he could stand to offer right now, much as he wants to. Abducting a child...
Abducting a child. It almost sits worse than the thought of Daud killing.
He takes it in stride, always in stride, giving no condemnation in tone or look or movement. Reminds himself this was years ago, another lifetime. The problem is now, the problem is the threat of violence that took root in Daud's mind. The problem is, Daud thought putting distance between himself and those with -
Care. Devotion. Feeling.
For him. Would somehow help the situation, rather than draw loneliness around him like a cloak. That being so removed from those who would give him good advice and comfort would make it an easier reality, or a less present one, or something more manageable. (There are other questions, a multitude of questions, things that can wait because the night is long and he's not going anywhere.
He doesn't have anything better to do.
Doesn't have anyone else he would rather be with, no matter how deadly the conversation seems.)
His exhale is slow, a heavy sound that is and isn't a sigh.
"I can't tell you what to do about this." He could try. He could ask him not to walk out the door, not to go looking for the person he used to be, to stay here and be the person Ludo knows. But that's a selfish ask. It has nothing to do with Daud's struggle, and everything to do with the way the room feels, the air feels, how his chest is too wooden to allow his lungs to expand. How his heart is a hammer without an anvil, an unsteady pounding against nothing. "And this is more to work with than just one night can give me."
That. Is very true. But winter nights are long, and winter is long, and he doesn't have anywhere else he wants to be than sitting here.
"I can say..." It's his turn to trail off, uncertain how to carve something useful out of this fragment. He tries, anyway. "The world has had enough destruction and loss in it for both of us. I don't need more." I need, I need - This isn't about what he needs. "Do you?"