Dale Diggle (hotdiggitydoc) wrote in an_ill_wind, @ 2009-09-25 22:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | - 1980/09 september, dedalus diggle, veronica smethley |
Who: Dig, open to Veronica and any Order members who might come to his house.
What: Mourning.
When: After he got his owled piece of Dorcas.
Where: His house.
Rating: PG?
Status: Completed-ish, but open for interactions.
The past week had been a hard one. Saying goodbye to Dorcas, knowing he would be unable to get her back, had been more than difficult. It had been traumatizing for him. She had been like a daughter to him, and being in a position to try and give her closure without crushing her had been... devastating. But he still held out hope that he may be able to get through to her, that someone may find a hole in the Yaxley wards.
But then he received the owl. A parcel of innards. Large intestines, small intestines, stomach, muscle, and much blood. He stared at it for one moment, and then started a potion, adding portions of the contents of the package. The results were unsurprising but devastating. He washed his hands, poured himself a drink, and took out his journal, still reeling from the shock. It was true, and it was over, and he refilled his drink even before he got to the page he'd been expecting. He managed a few calm replies, a few more moments of rationality, but then he looked over at mess on the table that was the unwrapped package, the cauldron next to it, and got up, walking away from his journal and straight outside.
He walked out over the back deck, through the garden, and just inside the tree line. He breathed hard for a moment, and his rational brain told him he was reacting badly to an upsetting situation, letting the anxiety take him over. His rational brain knew he should take in the situation, but the two glasses of liquor he'd consumed hadn't numbed him enough to allow him to be able to listen to his rational brain in the face of losing someone he had veritably considered a child. He had healed her, he had held her, he had grown close to her. And now she was dead and had likely spent her last days in terrible agony. He hadn't been able to help her, none of them had been able to do anything.
That was the rub of it. Dig wasn't used to being helpless. They were losing a one-sided war, and he wasn't used to being on the losing side.
It was all too much. Dedalus wasn't the sort of man who fell to pieces. He was too old and too jaded to get so emotional about situations that he let them tear him up. He had loved Dorcas, he had loved her incredibly, but histrionics wasn't something he was accustomed to. Still, at the moment, he did feel overwhelmed and dark and he felt it building and building up.
Before he knew it, the forest behind his house was in flames and he was sitting on the back porch watching it, another glass of expensive liquor in his hand as he stared into the flames. He felt like a failure in his life. His son barely knew him, his daughter hated him, his ex-wife didn't speak to him, his lover barely did either, and Dorcas was dead. Dorcas, the girl he had cared for as if she was his a daughter to him as well, was not even a part of this world any longer, and he had the contents of her abdomen in a pile on his kitchen table.
He'd clean it up, but for now, watching the flames destroy the forest behind his house somehow made him feel better. It mirrored the angry, frustrated, dark feeling dominent inside him at the moment. He'd be an adult and clean up and deal with it in a moment. In a moment he'd think about what had to be done. He'd see about planning the funeral because he didn't even know if she had any family left to do that for her. He'd see about checking on the others, the younger kids, the ones with a predisposition for drama who would likely need someone to lend them some common sense.
But for this one moment, he just sipped his liquor and watched the destruction and wished it made him feel better.