Daniel Brown Webster (labete) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-01-19 15:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | beast |
Who: Daniel
What: A narrative, stream-of-consciousness kind of thing that I always worry is just spam. It's a whole bunch of answers to the 'why' questions.
Where: R1
When: Immediately following Daniel's withdrawal from this encounter, and immediately preceding this conversation with Vaughn.
Warnings: Not a one. Well. Vaughn is creepy in her conversation. And I think she swears a little bit. But not in this.
Daniel backed slowly away from the door as the reverberations from the collision of frame and lock rattled the icy window panes of his bedroom. The lush carpet, which had been tracked down in worn paths to the door, stood up under his feet as he retreated, revived by a vacuum by Jude or Rosalie--or perhaps someone else who had managed to visit his bedroom without waking him, an event he would have claimed was impossible a month ago. He could hear Ain sobbing on the other side, and it didn't surprise him when she started hammering on it, probably in lieu of him. She was a child, and meddled in the affairs of others as children do, seeing the emotions of those around her as toys she could fix or set to shine when she chose. Life, people, emotion -- none of these were like that; it was not so easy as a few well-chosen words or a careful arrangement of time and place. Her appearance and manner was that of an adult, and with charm she trespassed easily on the lives of others. Daniel was furious with her for being so free with her own safety, something he knew he would forgive eventually, but not now. She would walk into the busy street to reach the green grass on the other side because she knew no better, and Daniel realized, through the lingering vinegar of fear and anger, that he could not stop her. He listened as the sobbing died down, and sighed with relief as the weight of it passed out of his hearing.
He turned. The only light, provided by the laptop on the edge of the bed, was dim, but he didn't move to correct it, thankful for some version of anonymity, if only from himself. He didn't need to see to navigate a room so familiar. He sat down on the edge of the bed, grateful no one was there to see him press a palm to his chest where familiar ripples of agony pulled at his senses. He waited for it to pass, and forgot to be surprised when a small, trembling ball of dandelion fluff climbed onto his lap and mewed inquisitively. Letting the kitten examine his fingers, he stared vaguely down at it, watching the dim outline of its skinny little body blundering around. It had been a long time since he'd seen anything quite so young, or so helpless, or so small. It was very bold for such a tiny thing, batting at his fingers and appropriating pillows several times its size.
His isolation and personality had left Daniel with few familiar faces; of these, the number of people he cared for on this earth certainly did not exceed the number of fingers he had to count them. Two of those were now out of his reach, permanently, he suspected. (That hurt, but it was not a strange pain. He passed over it as he would a sore tooth.) Another two would disavow any knowledge of him out of sheer vindictive embarrassment, and while the social plight of his parents amused him, Daniel had no desire to endure their censure. If he was dead, they could hate him then. The others, a strange menagerie of people that had clustered to the top of his urban retreat in odd ones and twos, consistently confused, frightened, and angered him. If the manipulation was intentional, he would have done everything he could to drive them away, but as it stood, the constant up and down of giving a damn was his own doing, and not theirs. Ain, Vlad, and now Jude, Rosalie, and that hopeless fool, Shane, were the only people who would recognize his corpse lying in a gutter if they passed it. Each had a potential, some immeasurable value, that Daniel, in his own estimation of himself, found far more worthy than his own. ( As he came upon the thought, he doubted there was another novel in him, even if he was of a state to write it--a fact he disliked lying to Claire about... but there the trickle of thought ran dry, for he resolved not to think about disappointing Claire. Such a thing was inevitable.) A better conclusion, then: he would protect these people, these few, and he would do it a lot more effectively than a child with too much to lose.
Tipping sideways, mindful of the kitten and cradling it in one hand as he moved, Daniel lay down in the familiar thickness of sheet and blankets. He let out a hard breath he hadn't known he was holding in as taut muscles worn from the strain relaxed. The kitten didn't complain when he took all the pillows to keep himself upright, but that was because it was immediately off tunneling under the blankets, discovering new places it had been only a few minutes before. Youth.
Daniel pulled the laptop closer to him, and started typing.
Vaughn, he was beginning to understand. For two years she had been an enigma to him, an infallible, omniscient mystery that knew all and divulged little, a cruel anonymous hand of fate that he sought to defeat with means consistently out of his reach, but as he was Tantalus, she was Persephone, a tormentor likewise tormented. He felt no sympathy for her, his own suffering was too complete for that, and he cringed away from acknowledging the depth of her feeling for him, a phenomenon he did not understand nor want to understand. If what he had seen, indeed, a phenomenon in itself, was fact, then he had met her once, and barely for more than a moment. He did not understand what she was, or what she did, or why. Yet he did know, with certainty, that he, and only he, was her object. He owned nothing of real value. He, himself, had no value. Whatever she wanted, anything he had--anything he was--she could have it.
He would give it, whatever it was, to her. Then... and then, maybe she would be satisfied.