[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
. . . 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.
no subject
. . . I don't need support . . .
no subject
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.