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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[ 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.

They're very different. And they're both different to your murder games.

[He pauses.]

Those who had no sympathy for you because of the role you were forced into. What do you believe they would have done, in your place?

[ this she looks bitter at. ]

The same fucking thing I did. They would've picked people they weren't close to. And they would've gotten themselves caught, I'm sure, so someone else could take up their place. All so everybody else could have their false fucking victory over finding someone who was forced to kill people and then throwing that person into an execution ring.

[ and then, angrily: ] One of them told me they would've picked the people who were contributing the least, if you can fucking believe that.

[Alfie snorts - either at that last comment or at the whole thing; it's not clear.]

Right.

So what you're telling me is that you did what you had to do, just as anyone would have done.

[ she looks down at her bottle. ]

... Yeah. [ she says, hesitantly. ] But none of them thought so.

[ she is a creature fueled by validation and the opinions of others, even if she tries her best to not show it. it's hard not to take it to heart. ]

And if - everybody thinks it was something irredeemable, it must be, right?

Absolutely fucking not. They sound like sanctimonious, hypocritical pricks, the lot of them, and you'd do best to be shot of their opinions.

[ she - huffs out a bit of a laugh. it's hiccup-y and tipsy. ]

That's - that's easy to say. [ sniff. ] I had - I had this power, you know? They gave us powers. I could summon a creature out of my negative emotions to kill people. So I did.

I tore two people apart. I beat one to death with my fists.

And you did it because it was the best option in front of you at the time, yes?

[ she rubs at her eye. ]

Yeah. I guess. [ a pause. ] It doesn't... it doesn't make me feel any better, I don't think.

You're not as ruthless as I am, expect.

[It's not a bad or a good thing, as far as he's concerned; it just is.]

But I would suggest, if you can, that you be a bit kinder to yourself.

[ that gets her to bark out a laugh. ]

Ahah. I'm really not fucking good at that. [ being kind to herself, she means. she brushes the tears trickling down her cheek away with her arm. ]

Nobody gets... [ she starts, and then stops. and then, again, with both hands gripping the bottle tightly: ] Nobody gets how hard it was. I'm trying not to - I don't know how much right I have to be upset, you know? How much I get to agonize over this. I'm trying to figure it out.

'Cause it feels like I'm not allowed to be. They said being killed made them feel expendable, helpless, weak, but - am I not allowed to feel that way? They didn't want to die. We've got blood on our hands, blood we didn't want to spill, and if they caught us they would've celebrated, they caught a killer, but I didn't want to kill.

[Alfie neither mentions the tears, nor acknowledges them in any other way. There's no shame in them, but all the same, he'd rather give her the dignity of not being fussed over.]

Their situation sounds awful. Yeah. But your situation - yours was more difficult, Beau. They have the luxury of not doubting even for a moment if they were in the right.

[ she appreciates that he doesn't call attention to them - she doesn't want them to be a thing. she's cried so fucking much over the past few weeks. ]

They got to sleep easy. [ she agrees, sinking further into the couch. something loosens in her chest. ] They didn't have to pick people to die. They didn't have to watch the people around them fall apart and know it was their fault.

[ she brings her knees up to her chest, staring out across the room. ]

Picking who was going to die was... no matter who it was, it was going to be someone that someone else couldn't lose.

Someone told me I should've killed the people close to me. So it was just me suffering. Maybe I should've. [ she reaches up to hold onto the beanie on her head, smoothing her thumb over it like she's comforting herself. ]

Oh, for fuck's sake--

[He cuts a hand through the air, agitated.]

I do hope you asked if that's what they would have done. I am absolutely fucking positive that it wouldn't have been.

[ sniff. ]

He suggested it because that's what he did in his own game, but. [ a pause. ] He was the mastermind of his own game. He picked people to kill for him under the influence of the island he was on.

I don't think he ever actually did any kills, though. He just picked people he trusted to get the job done.