Darius knows what to say to tide people over. To string along anyone - Puppies, competitors, would-be-agitators - with the right word and the right seeming-promise. Truth or lie, it comes easily, with scarcely a thought and with few feelings regarding the import of his words.
What’s different in this instance: a feeling of rooted investment. (As if something beyond himself here matters.) Intention beyond a wholly self-serving line of purpose. A wish, perhaps (a wish, certainly) to ease the boy for the boy’s own sake.
He doesn’t think about this. His focus is on the agitation in Enri’s voice and the sound of crying. (They took his Enri away. They left his Enri to crumble. Bastards, absolute bastards. What the fuck are they trying to prove.
Darius has half a mind to contact Colling. He doesn’t like the asshole (how much the asshole purports to comprehend; how much the asshole does clearly understand), but at least Colling had seemed prepared to accept the inevitability of Enri’s place with Darius. Fucking bastard should have spoken with his fucking brothers-in-law-to-be. Fucking bastard could have taken steps to fucking prevent this.
The poor boy. Poor Enri. He didn’t ask for this.
Fucking Pendletons, whittling away their week.)
His voice holds level when he speaks, authoritative and traced still with that warmth, that quiet offering of comfort. "I won't leave you.
"Breathe, Enri. In. Out.
"Close your eyes. Can you feel Daddy's hand at your cheek? Try to know it, Puppy. Put a hand to your cheek. Do it for Daddy, hm?”
A space of pause, a space to let Enri move if he can, if h will, and then, "You're a good boy, Enri. A good Puppy.” And. “I’m not upset. Not with you.
"I want you to breathe, Enri.”
There’s something else. Something more to add, a contingency Darius doesn’t typically address. "If they interrupt us, I need you to breathe. Daddy knows you'll make good decisions. I won't let you wear yourself out.”
Through the frosted glass, he watches figures trail in and out of the room. Tracks the sounds of drills, of removal, of voices bandied over the work. Darius’s brow furrows, though he keeps his voice clear of frustration. “If they interrupt us again, I need you to know I’m not mad. Daddy isn’t mad at you, Puppy. You’ve done everything right. You can speak with them, and know Daddy isn’t angry. You can speak with them, and know that it’s what Daddy wants. I need you to know that I understand.
“And if they try to cut us off again, I need you to trust me: everything will be well.
"Breathe, Enri.
"Do you understand? You needn't speak; only breathe out, if that’s better. Only give me some sound that you’ve heard, hm? I’m here, Puppy. And whatever they try, I’m going to bring you back.”
no subject
What’s different in this instance: a feeling of rooted investment. (As if something beyond himself here matters.) Intention beyond a wholly self-serving line of purpose. A wish, perhaps (a wish, certainly) to ease the boy for the boy’s own sake.
He doesn’t think about this. His focus is on the agitation in Enri’s voice and the sound of crying. (They took his Enri away. They left his Enri to crumble. Bastards, absolute bastards. What the fuck are they trying to prove.
Darius has half a mind to contact Colling. He doesn’t like the asshole (how much the asshole purports to comprehend; how much the asshole does clearly understand), but at least Colling had seemed prepared to accept the inevitability of Enri’s place with Darius. Fucking bastard should have spoken with his fucking brothers-in-law-to-be. Fucking bastard could have taken steps to fucking prevent this.
The poor boy. Poor Enri. He didn’t ask for this.
Fucking Pendletons, whittling away their week.)
His voice holds level when he speaks, authoritative and traced still with that warmth, that quiet offering of comfort. "I won't leave you.
"Breathe, Enri. In. Out.
"Close your eyes. Can you feel Daddy's hand at your cheek? Try to know it, Puppy. Put a hand to your cheek. Do it for Daddy, hm?”
A space of pause, a space to let Enri move if he can, if h will, and then, "You're a good boy, Enri. A good Puppy.” And. “I’m not upset. Not with you.
"I want you to breathe, Enri.”
There’s something else. Something more to add, a contingency Darius doesn’t typically address. "If they interrupt us, I need you to breathe. Daddy knows you'll make good decisions. I won't let you wear yourself out.”
Through the frosted glass, he watches figures trail in and out of the room. Tracks the sounds of drills, of removal, of voices bandied over the work. Darius’s brow furrows, though he keeps his voice clear of frustration. “If they interrupt us again, I need you to know I’m not mad. Daddy isn’t mad at you, Puppy. You’ve done everything right. You can speak with them, and know Daddy isn’t angry. You can speak with them, and know that it’s what Daddy wants. I need you to know that I understand.
“And if they try to cut us off again, I need you to trust me: everything will be well.
"Breathe, Enri.
"Do you understand? You needn't speak; only breathe out, if that’s better. Only give me some sound that you’ve heard, hm? I’m here, Puppy. And whatever they try, I’m going to bring you back.”