wickedchouette | (no subject)

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[Alfie greets and makes nice with newcomers when he comes across them, but he doesn't go out of his way to seek them out. He's not interested in being part of any de facto welcome wagon, especially not now that more and more people are filtering their way in, either to use the Meadous as a waypoint or to settle down and stay; that can be a job for people like Meulin and Harley. He does, however, notice new houses as he passes them by, and today there's one on his regular walking route. He takes note of the name on the mailbox - Beauregard, good lord - and is all set to continue ambling onwards when a flash of movement catches his eye. Is that--

-- yes. That absolutely is his cat, leaping up onto the windowsill and slipping in through the open window.

With a sigh, he turns and heads towards the door instead, giving it a firm knock.]

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We killed three together. One of the weeks, someone got voted for during a trial, and they didn't do it. I got picked to be executioner the next day.

So - four innocent people.

Fucking hell.

[Look, he's a gang leader and everything, but this - this is fantastically cruel, far beyond the scope of anything he's done, or ordered to be done.]

Have you spoken to anyone else about this?

[ she sort of - shrugs. ]

I tried to talk to people in the camp, but most of them were pissed that I killed their friends. [ another swig of wine. ]

No, no; people here, I meant. Those who are separate and unaffected.

Oh. No. [ she shifts. ] ... You're the first person I've told.

[ it'd take so much to explain a murder game so she just... never does. ]

Really. Not even Gwen? She worries after you, you know.

[ another swig. ]

I know she does. [ she's very sweet, and beau had a wild month of trying to figure out if she had a crush on her or not before deciding no, she just likes the attention. ]

I haven't told her. It doesn't really come up, you know? Like I'm not gonna just fucking drop oh yeah and I killed four people in casual conversation.

You could, you know. This is Gwen we're talking about.

[Gwen, who's unflappable; Gwen, who has pretty much always heard worse.]

[ fair enough. gwen wouldn't even flinch, considering her husband.

beau sinks down into the couch, holding the bottle tightly. ]

I don't want to. [ sniff. ] I wasn't going to tell you, either.

And all things considered, I'm surprised you're not reacting worse. It's never a good idea, keeping everything inside like this.

S'mostly because of Yin Yu.

[ she says, bringing her feet up on the couch. she holds her knees close to her chest. ]

Still as water. [ another swig. she's starting to get lightheaded, so that's good. ] Heart as still as water.

[ so she's just... pointedly not thinking about it, basically. ]

Explain to me who that is; you've not mentioned him.

[Him? Her? Them? Who knows; he's not the best with non-English names.]

[ a long sigh. ]

He's a friend of mine. From the camp. [ it's really funny that beau has just like, adopted all of the ancient chinese sword wizards. ] He helped me not lose my shit a few times.

I lost, uh - I lost... [ she pauses, and takes another drink. ] Four weeks in, I lost one of the closest people to me. Someone who I couldn't lose. He killed someone, because he thought it'd be helping me. He knew I was a murderer - he thought if he killed someone that week I wouldn't have to. I did have to. And he got caught, instead of me.

I had to watch his execution. He and another friend of mine had to fight each other to the death and the only weapon they were given were fountain pens. He died getting stabbed in the neck. He made it close to me, and fell, and I couldn't move. I couldn't go to him, there was a barrier, so I just had to watch him bleed to death in the snow.

[ a pause. ] Yin Yu was one of the only people who made me feel like I could make it past that.

[She really should be telling this to Gwen, he thinks. Gwen is gentle and maternal; she would put an arm around her and murmur nice, comforting things. Alfie isn't incapable of any of that, of course, but he's not so fast or so easy with it.

But then, he thinks, maybe an arm around her shoulders and soft, comforting words aren't actually what she wants at the moment.]

Yeah.

[He says, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.]

Yeah, you've been through the wringer, all right, haven't you. It's a wonder you're not a gibbering mess right now. "Heart as still as water" - that's something he'd say to you, or something that was said about him?

[ through the wringer is an understatement, she feels like. just saying this, saying out loud what happened to her - it feels insane. ]

Um. [ she takes another drink, bringing her hand up to rub at her face. ] Both, sort of. He calmed me down using that. It's kind of like meditation? A mantra.

[ sniff. ] But he's always really calm, too. The week after - after. [ pause. ] The week after Huaisang died, Yin Yu caught me in the middle of, um. Phoenix called it a panic attack?

And we were all sharing emotions that week, and Yin Yu had a lot of calm in him that he gave to me.

That'll help.

[He's speaking from experience, of course. He's both given calm to Royce as well as leeched it off of him.]

Would he also have said not to keep it bottled up?

Probably. [ she says, looking away. ]

I'm not - bottling it up, I just. There's no good way to talk about it. Nobody is going to fucking sympathize with a murderer. Nobody did in the camp.

You'd be surprised what crimes people here will sympathize with, Beau, if they decide they're fond enough of the person who committed them.

[ a long pause. ]

You didn't even trip over me telling you I killed four people.

You told me weeks ago what murder games entailed.

[He counters, folding his hands.]

But I've killed men, myself, in far more morally repugnant situations than you.

[ fair, but she hadn't mentioned she did a murder - or four. either way, she looks up at him. not... startled, because it's not a surprise, but intrigued. ]

Gwen told me you were a gangster. [ but she's known gangsters who haven't killed people, so... she didn't want to assume. ] Makes sense, I guess. That you wouldn't care what I did.

Not caring is flippant. Makes it sound as if I don't understand the gravity of taking a life. I do. I simply understand, and I accept.

I was also a soldier, you know, once upon a time. That's very different from being a gangster.

[ she shifts on the couch. the gravity of taking a life. deep breath. another drink. ]

How... [ she starts, and then: ] How'd you figure out to handle it?

The war deaths, or the gangster deaths?

... I guess any of them. Either.