They let me out, Sir, to be a servant to that Coraline. But chained I were, at the wrists and ankles. They are more thorough than the guards in France, Sir. I cannot run when they won't let me. One day, though. I shall see that stupid Ambrose and rap his knuckles and box his ears for such that he's done to us.
[She watches the emotions ripple across Amos' face. Finally, she's getting there. But - but no. To her surprise, the question is deflected back onto her. She takes a minute to answer, chewing her lips as she thinks how to put it into words.]
It just... is. It is what happens, no? They have money or a dress or jewels or that, that you want or need and... and you take it. It doesn't matter really, does it? Or you are drunk and in a fight, and their head is hit on a table or floor or no, and they are dead. Death is everywhere. What is one less rich woman, one less drunken brute, one less street rat drowned in the Seine?
[It sounds pretty terrible when she says it like that. Callous and cold and careless. But she's started now and she's not going to back down]
'Parnasse used to enchant the ladies, you know? In their pretty dresses. He used to charm 'em, and they'd flock, like birds to honey or so, and surround him, and go with him into the alleys, to the parts of Paris where ladies ought not to be, and he'd caress - [ Her hands mimic Montparnasse's actions on her own body, tracing down her sides until she moves them back up and to her neck.] He'd tilt their heads away and then with his knife - [She draws the cut throat line across her throat.]
He let me try on the dresses sometimes, and only ever a little blood on 'em. He always laughed though. You cannot dress a cockroach in silk, can you? They were so pretty, them dresses though. I wished and wished he'd let me have one, but no.
Cw for murders
[She watches the emotions ripple across Amos' face. Finally, she's getting there. But - but no. To her surprise, the question is deflected back onto her. She takes a minute to answer, chewing her lips as she thinks how to put it into words.]
It just... is. It is what happens, no? They have money or a dress or jewels or that, that you want or need and... and you take it. It doesn't matter really, does it? Or you are drunk and in a fight, and their head is hit on a table or floor or no, and they are dead. Death is everywhere. What is one less rich woman, one less drunken brute, one less street rat drowned in the Seine?
[It sounds pretty terrible when she says it like that. Callous and cold and careless. But she's started now and she's not going to back down]
'Parnasse used to enchant the ladies, you know? In their pretty dresses. He used to charm 'em, and they'd flock, like birds to honey or so, and surround him, and go with him into the alleys, to the parts of Paris where ladies ought not to be, and he'd caress - [ Her hands mimic Montparnasse's actions on her own body, tracing down her sides until she moves them back up and to her neck.]
He'd tilt their heads away and then with his knife - [She draws the cut throat line across her throat.]
He let me try on the dresses sometimes, and only ever a little blood on 'em. He always laughed though. You cannot dress a cockroach in silk, can you? They were so pretty, them dresses though. I wished and wished he'd let me have one, but no.