It’d been easy. Every motion, every act a matter of expedience. Slitting the throat of one man or another, daggering a woman in the back, and, yes, abducting a child. Anything, he would have done and he had done so much for the sake of coin and renown. All of which had come in stride for the man he was. Just as it had felt natural to direct his Whalers toward their deadly work. Just as it had seemed right to view the city as his own, to view himself above all others.
How. How had it been so easy. (And how does it now seem so simple to slide back?)
The black-eyed bastard’s voice again: ”I see forever, and right now I see a man walking a tightrope over a sea of blood and filth.”
That bastard. (That bastard had a point.)
No. He can’t focus on the past any more than he can focus on this room and Ludo’s presence. Either way, he’s liable to find himself lost, drawn off-track by agitation by ire or some warmth he doesn’t bother naming, doesn’t need to name. What matters right now is speaking this through.
(He’d erase it all if he could. His deeds, his name, the renown he’d won. What he wouldn’t give for it to disappear, to never have been. What he wouldn’t give to show the man before him someone else, less stained in blood, more. More. (Deserving.))
Again he jars himself into the present. The words: ’This is more to work with than just one night can give me.’ Of course. This must be too much, almost, for taking in. And though Daud’s not asking for advice, though he almost points out, almost protests - ’I wouldn’t force that on you’ - he holds back, because perhaps that’s precisely what he’s doing. Perhaps it’s what he was half hoping for, beneath that wish to simply speak, to make certain he’s not hiding from this man who belongs to these wilds and moves so comfortably among the trees, who sits with such comfort in silence, who, who… who Daud would very much prefer to be seen by.
That this man should allow him to remain, should listen, should clearly hear, and neither flinch nor send Daud away seems impossible. He tells himself it’s only Ludo’s nature. That the man’s skilled with receiving, that he grants to all around the gift of his absorption. (He tells himself it could be something otherwise, as well. Because he finds uncommon depths to the man’s regard. Because the weight of his gaze holds Daud steady. Because there’s something more than welcoming - more than welcome - in every glance.
How in these eyes he feels connected. More the self that he wishes to be. It’s in part the way he feels when beheld by Katrina, when beheld by Cassandra, and yet wound still deeper through his chest. He doesn’t ask how this happened. Why this man holds so much meaning, so much gravity for Daud. The why of it doesn’t matter; only that he feels it. That it holds him. Keeps him almost steady, even in this telling. Gives him reason for something approaching belief.)
Strange, the life he’s found here.
But that isn’t the point, either. He’s leading himself astray too easily. Owes Ludo the courtesy of focus (at the very least). Because there was a question, apt, precise. And Daud has an answer, or the beginning trace of one. ’Do you?’ Does he.
“It isn’t what I want.” That much he knows. But is it what must occur? Daud’s always been a practical man, able to focus on what needs to be done in order to achieve one goal or another (and look where that had led him; look what that practicality had been honed toward). This is within his capability. Might be his responsibility, given the family’s proximity to Katrina, given the family’s potential for doing deep harm.
He doesn’t want to be that man again. But if he has to be. But if someone has to be.
“I don’t expect you to solve—“ ’My troubles.’’This mess.’ Or— “What I am.
“Not to say I don’t value your opinion. Only I’m not eager to put this on you, not any more than I’ve already done.” It’s already been too much, hasn’t it? And that’s only the surface of the story. That’s not to list off the number of people he’d slain, and how little he’d cared who they were. That’s not to mention the Outsider.
A pause, another thought, and he shakes his head once, looking once again toward a corner. "It isn't what I want. But the thought remains." The thought. The possibility. He's only. He's only. Going to venture a glance at Ludo, then return his gaze the corner.
no subject
How. How had it been so easy. (And how does it now seem so simple to slide back?)
The black-eyed bastard’s voice again: ”I see forever, and right now I see a man walking a tightrope over a sea of blood and filth.”
That bastard. (That bastard had a point.)
No. He can’t focus on the past any more than he can focus on this room and Ludo’s presence. Either way, he’s liable to find himself lost, drawn off-track by agitation by ire or some warmth he doesn’t bother naming, doesn’t need to name. What matters right now is speaking this through.
(He’d erase it all if he could. His deeds, his name, the renown he’d won. What he wouldn’t give for it to disappear, to never have been. What he wouldn’t give to show the man before him someone else, less stained in blood, more. More. (Deserving.))
Again he jars himself into the present. The words: ’This is more to work with than just one night can give me.’ Of course. This must be too much, almost, for taking in. And though Daud’s not asking for advice, though he almost points out, almost protests - ’I wouldn’t force that on you’ - he holds back, because perhaps that’s precisely what he’s doing. Perhaps it’s what he was half hoping for, beneath that wish to simply speak, to make certain he’s not hiding from this man who belongs to these wilds and moves so comfortably among the trees, who sits with such comfort in silence, who, who… who Daud would very much prefer to be seen by.
That this man should allow him to remain, should listen, should clearly hear, and neither flinch nor send Daud away seems impossible. He tells himself it’s only Ludo’s nature. That the man’s skilled with receiving, that he grants to all around the gift of his absorption. (He tells himself it could be something otherwise, as well. Because he finds uncommon depths to the man’s regard. Because the weight of his gaze holds Daud steady. Because there’s something more than welcoming - more than welcome - in every glance.
How in these eyes he feels connected. More the self that he wishes to be. It’s in part the way he feels when beheld by Katrina, when beheld by Cassandra, and yet wound still deeper through his chest. He doesn’t ask how this happened. Why this man holds so much meaning, so much gravity for Daud. The why of it doesn’t matter; only that he feels it. That it holds him. Keeps him almost steady, even in this telling. Gives him reason for something approaching belief.)
Strange, the life he’s found here.
But that isn’t the point, either. He’s leading himself astray too easily. Owes Ludo the courtesy of focus (at the very least). Because there was a question, apt, precise. And Daud has an answer, or the beginning trace of one. ’Do you?’ Does he.
“It isn’t what I want.” That much he knows. But is it what must occur? Daud’s always been a practical man, able to focus on what needs to be done in order to achieve one goal or another (and look where that had led him; look what that practicality had been honed toward). This is within his capability. Might be his responsibility, given the family’s proximity to Katrina, given the family’s potential for doing deep harm.
He doesn’t want to be that man again. But if he has to be. But if someone has to be.
“I don’t expect you to solve—“ ’My troubles.’ ’This mess.’ Or— “What I am.
“Not to say I don’t value your opinion. Only I’m not eager to put this on you, not any more than I’ve already done.” It’s already been too much, hasn’t it? And that’s only the surface of the story. That’s not to list off the number of people he’d slain, and how little he’d cared who they were. That’s not to mention the Outsider.
A pause, another thought, and he shakes his head once, looking once again toward a corner. "It isn't what I want. But the thought remains." The thought. The possibility. He's only. He's only. Going to venture a glance at Ludo, then return his gaze the corner.