[ She has... no idea what's happening, Rufus' confusion not influencing hers, merely mirroring it. The woman holding the little boy close is a near-identical match to the one she'd seen last week, though the hair color and the eye color are different.
The injured man-- Legis. Rufus' father, the one also mentioned, which means the woman is indeed Rufus' mother. But... resurrect? Is that why she looks vaguely different? Rather, she looks human, not bearing those pointed ears she's come to associate with Rufus.
A debt. Despite herself, she hears it in her mind, clear as day.
"Oh, did he not tell you? Surely it must be the duty of the daughter to take on her father's debt when he himself can't pay up. Don't worry, love, we'll be gentle."
But it continues. Melanie and her small son being threatened, Legis reacting with fury, and then suddenly all that is gone and there's Rufus and a group of people standing in some sort of... library?
With the wave of emotions that follows, Dorothy lets her mind work to click those pieces together with what she already knows. What she's already seen. Rufus' mother had died, presumably waiting for her husband. Rufus had made arrangements to resurrect her, but had been put into debt because of it-- which explains his single-minded desire for money. She had resurrected and... been reunited with her husband and now had another child, the boy she'd seen-- Rufus' brother? And the man who had done it had taken advantage of that-- of them, of Rufus and his unwavering love for his mother.
Then the man, Tristan, must be the source of all of that rage and fury... the one Rufus had declared he would kill with his own power.
There's an ache when she thinks of her own mother, the woman who had left and never returned. But the ache only intensifies when the scene ends but the emotions remain heavy over her, like a thick blanket. Dorothy knows what it's like to be hurt and betrayed, to be furious at the circumstances and the people who would take advantage of them, to love your parents despite everything, and the grief, the pain of knowing that despite your best efforts, things had still gone terribly wrong.
And Rufus has been carrying this with him all this time, refusing to trust anyone or make connections because of where it's led him, and she finally knows why.
It's really just a single tremor that runs through her, but when Dorothy lifts her head, it's with tears sliding down her face that she doesn't even register at the moment.
[The emotions are always fresh; their scabs, torn off by reminders of the events that preceded his arrival in the Realm. He laments what happened to his family and wants nothing more than for Tristan to pay after wrongfully collecting from them for so many years. But that's not a story for this place.
Taking a deep breath, he sets the glass down and dares a glance at Dorothy, who is . . . crying, just like Lass was. It draws a frown out of Rufus.]
[The anger in her eyes sets off a dubious spark within him when something akin to wonder clamps over the match before it can burst. But even that pales to his own anger that rages at Tristan's actions, weeks later.]
. . . Yes.
Pride or comfort means nothing to me. If it will let me reach him, I will discard both.
[For how selfish his intentions may be, his priorities in the Realm will never waver. Follow the rules, or at least break them within reasonable boundaries.]
[ So that was it. Regardless of the rule, whether he personally dislikes it or not, if accomplishing it allows him to get home... then he'd do it.
It explains how he'd forged through the trials last week without protest or much of a comment. And it tells her, simply enough, that it's pointless to worry. He'll get it done.
Almost exactly like her, she can't help but think, as she'd first murmured weeks ago. Maybe that's part of the reason. ]
I get it. [ It's said rather quietly and she shifts in her seat. ]
Then do what you have to. I'll support you where I can.
[He looks down at the glass of water, his fingers wrapping tighter around it. Look at where relying on others has gotten him. It wasn't like he had much of a choice back then, but he's had to pay the fee for this lesson far too many times for the supposed investment to be worth it anymore.]
[ But then there's yet another bubble and Dorothy sees it right as it bumps against her shoulder and there it goes.
A little girl, likely no older than nine, lifts her heavily marked arms over her head. Defensive. Her long sleeves are ripped, tears streaking down her face, her little fingers bruised, bloody and broken as new injuries accumulate with each blow that rains down upon her.
The man that towers over her is shouting near-incoherently, his words slurred, and the stench of alcohol washes over her as a metal claw that seems to have replaced his hand comes down on her. Again. Again. Again and again and again.
Snippets can be heard through the girl's faint sobs, about how "you'll leave me, just like she did" and "you're laughin' at your old man behind his back, aint'cha" and "it ain't my fault this happened to me!!"
And it continues until the girl stops protecting herself, kneels slumped on the floor with her clothes torn and her face swollen from the force of his ire, and the man lets out a loud wail and scoops her to his chest. She stares blankly over his shoulder and he cradles the back of her head, apologies falling on deaf ears.
"Daisy, my sweet Daisy, I didn't mean it, darlin', I didn't mean it--"
Everything aches. Everything hurts. But more than that, as she stares at nothing, something stirs inside of her. More than the misery, more than that thin shred of gratitude that at least he hadn't left her like her mother had... there's a tiny spark of resolve.
No one's going to stop this. He isn't going to change. If she doesn't do something, she'll die, just like this.
[Rufus is quiet in the initial moment they come back from the memory.
In the end, even parents can be difficult to trust. In fact, the fragments of trust broken by family are by far the hardest to piece back together. Daisy, who should've been cherished by her father, was instead beaten and blamed for a crime that wasn't hers, but her father's for shifting the responsibility onto her small shoulders in a show of the ultimate betrayal.
It's good that his apologies fell on deaf ears. It's better that she saved herself. Her father is a coward, but Dorothy is brave—nor does she plead self-gratifying forgiveness for all that she's done.
Rufus peers into the empty glass before shoving it forward and rising from his seat. If he has questions, he neglects to ask them.]
[ Dorothy doesn't answer him at first, waiting until the memory settles itself back to where it belongs-- not fresh and sharp on her skin, but deep within her. And then, her eyes flicking to his face, she nods.
He doesn't reach out to her. He doesn't tell her she's safe or that he's sorry for what she's been through. He's not even asking.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
The injured man-- Legis. Rufus' father, the one also mentioned, which means the woman is indeed Rufus' mother. But... resurrect? Is that why she looks vaguely different? Rather, she looks human, not bearing those pointed ears she's come to associate with Rufus.
A debt. Despite herself, she hears it in her mind, clear as day.
"Oh, did he not tell you? Surely it must be the duty of the daughter to take on her father's debt when he himself can't pay up. Don't worry, love, we'll be gentle."
But it continues. Melanie and her small son being threatened, Legis reacting with fury, and then suddenly all that is gone and there's Rufus and a group of people standing in some sort of... library?
With the wave of emotions that follows, Dorothy lets her mind work to click those pieces together with what she already knows. What she's already seen. Rufus' mother had died, presumably waiting for her husband. Rufus had made arrangements to resurrect her, but had been put into debt because of it-- which explains his single-minded desire for money. She had resurrected and... been reunited with her husband and now had another child, the boy she'd seen-- Rufus' brother? And the man who had done it had taken advantage of that-- of them, of Rufus and his unwavering love for his mother.
Then the man, Tristan, must be the source of all of that rage and fury... the one Rufus had declared he would kill with his own power.
There's an ache when she thinks of her own mother, the woman who had left and never returned. But the ache only intensifies when the scene ends but the emotions remain heavy over her, like a thick blanket. Dorothy knows what it's like to be hurt and betrayed, to be furious at the circumstances and the people who would take advantage of them, to love your parents despite everything, and the grief, the pain of knowing that despite your best efforts, things had still gone terribly wrong.
And Rufus has been carrying this with him all this time, refusing to trust anyone or make connections because of where it's led him, and she finally knows why.
It's really just a single tremor that runs through her, but when Dorothy lifts her head, it's with tears sliding down her face that she doesn't even register at the moment.
It's too damn lonely. ]
no subject
Taking a deep breath, he sets the glass down and dares a glance at Dorothy, who is . . . crying, just like Lass was. It draws a frown out of Rufus.]
. . . Please do not mind it.
[Discussing business is more important.]
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She's just going to take a few additional seconds to wipe at her eyes, looking thoroughly miserable and a little... angry. ]
I can't... not mind it. What a bastard.
[ But she takes a deep breath anyway, irritably swipes at her eyes once more. He doesn't want to talk about it. She gets it. ]
no subject
. . . Yes.
Pride or comfort means nothing to me. If it will let me reach him, I will discard both.
[For how selfish his intentions may be, his priorities in the Realm will never waver. Follow the rules, or at least break them within reasonable boundaries.]
no subject
It explains how he'd forged through the trials last week without protest or much of a comment. And it tells her, simply enough, that it's pointless to worry. He'll get it done.
Almost exactly like her, she can't help but think, as she'd first murmured weeks ago. Maybe that's part of the reason. ]
I get it. [ It's said rather quietly and she shifts in her seat. ]
Then do what you have to. I'll support you where I can.
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. . . I don't need support . . .
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I know you don't. It's there for when you want it.
[ And she shrugs. ]
Even if you never do.
no subject
Will that be all?
no subject
[ But then there's yet another bubble and Dorothy sees it right as it bumps against her shoulder and there it goes.
A little girl, likely no older than nine, lifts her heavily marked arms over her head. Defensive. Her long sleeves are ripped, tears streaking down her face, her little fingers bruised, bloody and broken as new injuries accumulate with each blow that rains down upon her.
The man that towers over her is shouting near-incoherently, his words slurred, and the stench of alcohol washes over her as a metal claw that seems to have replaced his hand comes down on her. Again. Again. Again and again and again.
Snippets can be heard through the girl's faint sobs, about how "you'll leave me, just like she did" and "you're laughin' at your old man behind his back, aint'cha" and "it ain't my fault this happened to me!!"
And it continues until the girl stops protecting herself, kneels slumped on the floor with her clothes torn and her face swollen from the force of his ire, and the man lets out a loud wail and scoops her to his chest. She stares blankly over his shoulder and he cradles the back of her head, apologies falling on deaf ears.
"Daisy, my sweet Daisy, I didn't mean it, darlin', I didn't mean it--"
Everything aches. Everything hurts. But more than that, as she stares at nothing, something stirs inside of her. More than the misery, more than that thin shred of gratitude that at least he hadn't left her like her mother had... there's a tiny spark of resolve.
No one's going to stop this. He isn't going to change. If she doesn't do something, she'll die, just like this.
It's time... to save herself. ]
no subject
In the end, even parents can be difficult to trust. In fact, the fragments of trust broken by family are by far the hardest to piece back together. Daisy, who should've been cherished by her father, was instead beaten and blamed for a crime that wasn't hers, but her father's for shifting the responsibility onto her small shoulders in a show of the ultimate betrayal.
It's good that his apologies fell on deaf ears. It's better that she saved herself. Her father is a coward, but Dorothy is brave—nor does she plead self-gratifying forgiveness for all that she's done.
Rufus peers into the empty glass before shoving it forward and rising from his seat. If he has questions, he neglects to ask them.]
Then I will be going.
no subject
He doesn't reach out to her. He doesn't tell her she's safe or that he's sorry for what she's been through. He's not even asking.
But that's... exactly what she needs. ]
Until next time, then.