[ Listen-- yes, she is fleeing, but also Molly is either asleep or unconscious or dying and she can't just ignore him if it's one of the latter two, so she just cautiously leans over from behind the chair to check for signs of. Well. Life. ]
[Asleep, it turns out? As in snoring. There's also a bottle of something just stuck in the sand. At least he's taking appropriate sun care, with a big pair of sparkly purple sunglasses on his face. gotta protect those eyes.]
[He just leans back in his chair, tail lazily swaying in the sand, reaching to run a nail around the edge of the bottle - staring off at the ocean - casual and calm.]
[ Gratitude flares for a moment and she stays seated, also gazing out across the ocean. ]
A long time ago... a girl witnessed her father being murdered while she remained hidden. Three men, all three bearing a mark of a crow.
... He was the only family she had. And so she swore, to do whatever it took, in order to find the three of them once more and seek their lives for what they had done. No matter how low she had to debase herself, or how foolishly she had to act, or how badly she was beaten.
One by one, she found and killed the men who had taken her father from her, until there was only one left.
... The man who orchestrated her father's death was also the man she had fallen in love with, and that man told her the truth as he plunged a knife into her stomach and left her to die with a mocking laugh of farewell.
[But more seriously he's trying very hard to contain any of his feelings about this story, because, well, she'd tried to place that distance for a reason, right? And she's sharing this intimate thing and he doesn't want to pass judgment on her either direction. He thinks he knows her well enough by now to understand that pity isn't fair either. But there is just a sting of grief, of the kind where someone you care for has been hurt so badly.]
. . . A cruel thing, for this place to take and then give back anew.
[ Primrose glances back at him, with a faint smile-- and she's weary and sad and the loneliness rises up very briefly in a wave before she nudges it back down again. ]
You chose to trust me with a secret of your own when I had done nothing to deserve it. For all of your kindness up to now and for how you chose to try to help me with a memory I could not recall...
I thought that this, at least, I could finally share. It may have been a painful memory, but nonetheless, I am glad to have it back.
No, I found myself here not long after I awakened... it seems the attack had left me unconscious for days. My wish...
[ She pauses, then takes his hand. ]
I wished to ensure that groups such as his did not rise again. It's... truly no way for anyone to live, the path of revenge. But still, it was my choice.
As for my revenge, I wanted it through my own efforts... not through any wish I could have made.
[Squeezing hers back then. There's really nothing but deep respect here now.]
I hope with all my heart that you get your desire, then, Primrose. And I'm honored you told me. I'll do my best to protect it.
[He just looks out at the ocean, still shaking off the last of the alcohol, the grogginess of lack of sleep and then crashing and repeating the cycle. it feels better here, for a few minutes anyway.]
I think - I think I never explained properly, did I? About where all that muscle memory comes from.
[He sits on it for a moment. because he does know? and he's a little conflicted on it - he so rarely tells this story on his own, without it being ripped out of him some way or another. a zone of truth or a curse where all your memories get thrown up on the walls like so much blood splatter.
how he'd sworn to himself he'd lie before telling the truth of it ever again, and then found himself sharing it here, over and over. but there's a bit of power in the telling himself anyway. could be he's a little braver now, able to look at it, where it had scared him so badly before.]
I don't mind. I want you to know. Or I want to share it. A story for a story.
Two years ago, I crawled out of an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere near a place called Shadycreek Run. I didn't have any memories, I didn't have a name, I didn't have any tattoos except for the bloody red eyes, and I didn't know how to speak any words except empty. A carnival happened across me, and being as they are, took me in. Fed me, clothed me, taught me how to speak, how to read the cards if not a book, and gave me a new name.
[ Primrose opts not to glance at him-- the emotional risk is far too great and she already finds herself stretched thin merely from exchanging those emotions. The last thing she needs to do is let Molly know of the concern and the care clogging her throat, when she likes to think she's done a decent job of masking it thus far.
Instead, she nods, thoughts kept to herself, to let him know she's most certainly listening. ]
[That's alright. He's mostly calm now when he tells this.]
So I've spent my time making a new person. A person I like. Someone who's happy, who does good things, and leaves places better than he found them. And I think I did for a while. I'm proud of that. And I get it - wanting to make your own path, your own choices. That's important to me as well.
I really don't remember anything about who used to be in this body, just ... flashes. Sometimes. And what I've been told, as much as I didn't want to know. His name is Lucien. [There's a sort of. clench. like this sort of acknowledgement is new. maybe some fear.] Or whatever it is he calls himself. Nonagon. [He ... spits.] But I know he was fucking bastard. I know it's just-- blood and muck and bile. And I don't want anything to do with whatever cursed path he chose. And it ended with him in that grave.
But when I died again - funnily enough, on the road to bloody Shadycreek Run - it seems that he came to reclaim what was his. So we've got that in common. Stubborn as all the hells and harder still to kill. So this is a bit of a power struggle as it were. I want my body and my life back. But I've got to take it from him.
[ He gets it-- she doesn't doubt that. He really, truly understands what it's like to walk a path and to choose to walk it and to stay on it with only your convictions keeping you moving forward.
His determination is so much kinder, though. Not seeking vengeance, but joy. To make things better for everything and everyone, to find happiness. All things she very much believes that Molly deserves, and she grimaces slightly at the thought of the body's original owner. A bastard, hm? ]
That's quite a struggle you've found yourself involved in. I can't imagine he would make it easy for you.
... But all the same, I refuse to accept the alternative. Your path is just as worthy of protecting, you know. [ He protects her wish, she'll protect his. ]
If the little Beau said was anything to go by, he's certainly giving the Nein a time of it.
[The problem might partially lie in how Mollymauk and Lucien are, at least on the surface, similar people. As much as Molly might insist otherwise.
also to be fair, if you died and lost all your memories and woke up and got turned into a clown at the circus while everyone just watched it happen, you might also rightfully be a little pissed off when you found out]
After you get your revenge, I think you should think about it, though. Finding a bit of joy. Building something. You deserve it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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In the sand. It's fine. Let him sleep. ]
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After a moment he wakes up with a bit of a snort, blinking and then sitting up - looking over.]
Oh. Hullo Primrose.
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[ There's a warm sense of fondness that accompanies her greeting. ]
I hope I didn't wake you?
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He sniffs a bit as he wakes up, pushing the sunglasses up, rubbing at his face.]
Oh, no, time to get up anyway. Can't sleep the day away. Things to do! People to indulge with.
. . . You get your memory back?
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[ She glances down at it, and there's a much more subtle emotion now, something far more guarded and sorrowful. Still, she smiles faintly. ]
May I tell you a story?
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Of course. Any time.
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A long time ago... a girl witnessed her father being murdered while she remained hidden. Three men, all three bearing a mark of a crow.
... He was the only family she had. And so she swore, to do whatever it took, in order to find the three of them once more and seek their lives for what they had done. No matter how low she had to debase herself, or how foolishly she had to act, or how badly she was beaten.
She lived for nothing else but revenge.
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. . . Is there more?
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One by one, she found and killed the men who had taken her father from her, until there was only one left.
... The man who orchestrated her father's death was also the man she had fallen in love with, and that man told her the truth as he plunged a knife into her stomach and left her to die with a mocking laugh of farewell.
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THE EMOTION IS SAD.]
[But more seriously he's trying very hard to contain any of his feelings about this story, because, well, she'd tried to place that distance for a reason, right? And she's sharing this intimate thing and he doesn't want to pass judgment on her either direction. He thinks he knows her well enough by now to understand that pity isn't fair either. But there is just a sting of grief, of the kind where someone you care for has been hurt so badly.]
. . . A cruel thing, for this place to take and then give back anew.
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You chose to trust me with a secret of your own when I had done nothing to deserve it. For all of your kindness up to now and for how you chose to try to help me with a memory I could not recall...
I thought that this, at least, I could finally share. It may have been a painful memory, but nonetheless, I am glad to have it back.
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[He brightens up a little though.]
Have you decided what you're going to do about it? Is it why you're here?
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So I intend to kill him without remorse.
[ It's fine. ]
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He just holds out a hand.
Whatever path she chooses is her own? He can't fault that. It's leaving it better than she found it, he supposes, in some way. At least for herself.]
Is that your wish, then? Or are you here for your life as well.
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[ She pauses, then takes his hand. ]
I wished to ensure that groups such as his did not rise again. It's... truly no way for anyone to live, the path of revenge. But still, it was my choice.
As for my revenge, I wanted it through my own efforts... not through any wish I could have made.
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I hope with all my heart that you get your desire, then, Primrose. And I'm honored you told me. I'll do my best to protect it.
[He just looks out at the ocean, still shaking off the last of the alcohol, the grogginess of lack of sleep and then crashing and repeating the cycle. it feels better here, for a few minutes anyway.]
I think - I think I never explained properly, did I? About where all that muscle memory comes from.
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[ And as he continues to speak, she hesitates, then gently works her fingers in between his, lacing them together. And, firmly-- ]
You didn't. But you do not need to say anything further of it, if you would rather not.
[ Which she's sure he knows, but a part of her wants to remind him that this will always be the case. ]
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how he'd sworn to himself he'd lie before telling the truth of it ever again, and then found himself sharing it here, over and over. but there's a bit of power in the telling himself anyway. could be he's a little braver now, able to look at it, where it had scared him so badly before.]
I don't mind. I want you to know. Or I want to share it. A story for a story.
Two years ago, I crawled out of an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere near a place called Shadycreek Run. I didn't have any memories, I didn't have a name, I didn't have any tattoos except for the bloody red eyes, and I didn't know how to speak any words except empty. A carnival happened across me, and being as they are, took me in. Fed me, clothed me, taught me how to speak, how to read the cards if not a book, and gave me a new name.
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Instead, she nods, thoughts kept to herself, to let him know she's most certainly listening. ]
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So I've spent my time making a new person. A person I like. Someone who's happy, who does good things, and leaves places better than he found them. And I think I did for a while. I'm proud of that. And I get it - wanting to make your own path, your own choices. That's important to me as well.
I really don't remember anything about who used to be in this body, just ... flashes. Sometimes. And what I've been told, as much as I didn't want to know. His name is Lucien. [There's a sort of. clench. like this sort of acknowledgement is new. maybe some fear.] Or whatever it is he calls himself. Nonagon. [He ... spits.] But I know he was fucking bastard. I know it's just-- blood and muck and bile. And I don't want anything to do with whatever cursed path he chose. And it ended with him in that grave.
But when I died again - funnily enough, on the road to bloody Shadycreek Run - it seems that he came to reclaim what was his. So we've got that in common. Stubborn as all the hells and harder still to kill. So this is a bit of a power struggle as it were. I want my body and my life back. But I've got to take it from him.
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His determination is so much kinder, though. Not seeking vengeance, but joy. To make things better for everything and everyone, to find happiness. All things she very much believes that Molly deserves, and she grimaces slightly at the thought of the body's original owner. A bastard, hm? ]
That's quite a struggle you've found yourself involved in. I can't imagine he would make it easy for you.
... But all the same, I refuse to accept the alternative. Your path is just as worthy of protecting, you know. [ He protects her wish, she'll protect his. ]
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[The problem might partially lie in how Mollymauk and Lucien are, at least on the surface, similar people. As much as Molly might insist otherwise.
also to be fair, if you died and lost all your memories and woke up and got turned into a clown at the circus while everyone just watched it happen, you might also rightfully be a little pissed off when you found out]
After you get your revenge, I think you should think about it, though. Finding a bit of joy. Building something. You deserve it.
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She falls silent for a moment, then chuckles. It's low, humorless. ]
I have killed those who wronged me, Molly. Their blood is on my hands and I have used others and done terrible things to get as far as I have.
I don't deserve happiness. And even if I were to believe differently, I don't know if I could even begin to know where to find it.
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