Daniel "Danny" Matthews (safeandsecure) wrote in noescapeisland, @ 2008-08-24 01:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | danny matthews, harry potter |
Who: Danny and OPEN
What: He’s confused. Philosophically.
When: Now.
Where: The bar.
Rating: Language.
Status: In progress.
Danny had always liked the taste of whiskey. It’d never been a problem before, but now? Now it was heading that direction. He hated being confused. It wasn’t the sheer fact of lacking knowledge, that part didn’t bug him. It was the feeling of being lost. The feeling of a sea of uncertainty rushing over you, doubts clouding judgment that you thought was pretty logical and flawless.
Danny hated being confused. It made him feel weak, and weak was not something he ever liked feeling. Weakness let things in. Things that he didn’t want to feel. Undesirable emotions. Guilt, for instance. He thought he’d left that all behind in the house. That horrible, fucked up little house, with all its pitfalls and all its moral dilemmas. He understood things, from his time before the house as well as his time in it. His entire lesson, the entirety of what he learned in that place, his entire worldview, was built up upon one simple truth.
There is not one genuinely good person in this entire universe.
Now he was here. He wasn’t sure where here was exactly. He figured it was some kind of asylum, because where else would someone put a bunch of mismatched nutbars? And what he learned here, the hard truth that was worming its way into his head, was that maybe that one simple building block, that one thing that his entire worldview depended on, was wrong.
Sandra was the crux of the issue. He’d sold her out. He’d set her up. He’d admitted to it. And she wasn’t going to turn him in. Wasn’t going to tell anyone. What’s more, she actually forgave him. He hadn’t been prepared for that. Partly because he’d expected the guy he’d been working with to show at least a modicum of professional courtesy and kill her, so that she wouldn’t live to get the informant into trouble. Secondly (and this was the issue he was having the most trouble with) forgiveness, real forgiveness, wasn’t supposed to happen. People weren’t supposed to be good enough for that.
“Son of a bitch,” he croaked around the rim of his glass, softly and with more than a little feeling behind it. He’d thought this place would be a playground, but now he was having second thoughts. “I’m gonna need a lot more whiskey…” He didn’t even get up, he just ‘ported behind the bar and began rummaging through all the drinks to find something he wanted.