abraxaslogs | INTRO LOG #2

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INTRO LOG #2

Intro Log #2

It has been two months now since the initial group of summonings first took place. Castle Thorne, or at least the part above ground, is buzzing with a vibrant air of hope following the 'success' at the Singularity. Eager smiles and excited chattering are to be found in nearly every corner of the castle and surrounding town. The honored guests may find grateful looks turned their way more often than not. A new and brighter day seems to be dawning on the kingdom.

In the dungeons it's a different story entirely. The mood is somber and uneasy. The prisoner taken for trial has yet to return, and no word has come regarding her or her fate. There has been no mention of any further trials as of yet and guards seem to have little patience for unruly behavior or even conversation. Some seem to not even look at or acknowledge the prisoners at all.

[ Feel free to continue threads from the TDM here or start your own! As cell and room assignments will be short-lived due to this month's event, you're free to assume whichever cellmates and roommates you like instead of officially signing up as long as there are ICly no more than four people in a cell or room at once. ]

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You're gonna have a next time, huh? [ He spares her a look, but his tone is disinterested more than anything else. Yup, talks a big game, doesn't have any results to back it up as far as he can tell. The sewers would be a good idea. Assuming she gets out in the first place. And can find the sewer in time. And has enough to eat down there while waiting. Still, actions matter more than words, so any credit he could give her has yet to actually form. ] Good luck with that.

[ What she says next though is so odd, it almost makes him forget about his current situation, her previous insinuation at cold-blooded murder of an innocent, all of it. There's still a violence thrumming under his surface, but Amos' brows furrow at her prodding. ]

What do you think killing someone is?

[ He's killed plenty. Sometimes up close, though beating someone to death is more his speed, not strangulation. Hearing someone describe taking a life like that, though, is... He doesn't know if Eponine has ever killed anyone herself, but if she has, they're on completely different pages. You kill someone and move on. You don't savour it. That'd be fucked up, and he's plenty fucked up already, but not like that. ]

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.

[ He raises his eyebrows at the idea of what she thinks Ambrose deserves. At the idea of being able to get close to him to begin with. But, hey, if they're talking about fantasies, ]

Not sure what you're gonna get done by rapping his knuckles and boxing his ears. [ The skepticism in his voice is enhanced by the fact that he's never heard those terms before. He gets what she means from context, but what a weird way to say it. ] Think I'd just kill him if I got close enough to do any of those things.

[ Plain spoken, just stating a fact. He's pissed off, yeah. She's annoying, yeah. But threats and venting aren't his thing. He says he's going to do something, he's probably going to do it, and that's that.

And at least, for the duration of her answer, she's got his full attention. The weight is set back down, and he watches her as she goes on, speaking a language he both is and isn't fluent in.

It takes him a moment. There's a lot he doesn't like about what she's said, but. He can't argue with any of it. Eponine's not a good person, she's made that very clear. But neither is he. He'll never have a high ground; wouldn't know what to do with it even if he did. So. Amos works his mouth. Doesn't know where to begin. Finds a spot. ]

You're out on the streets like that, you have to be smart. If you're not, that's what happens. [ He heard some of the stories from growing up. If you weren't careful, you were robbed, raped, killed. Heard about it happening more than once, when someone never came back. Made sure it was never him, and then he grew too big, too strong for it to ever be him. ] People die. You're right. It doesn't matter. There's a whole city to replace them.

[ Except it matters when it's someone he cares about; it's just he could probably count the number of people he cares about on one hand. So it doesn't really come up. So it doesn't matter.

Amos' gaze drifts to a guard. His shoulders tense; his fists clench, unclench. He wants to pick a fight so fucking badly; doesn't want to get up, walk over to a guard, be put down before he can even get so much as a swing in—

He doesn't turn back to Eponine, but with a deadened voice, adds on, ] If he wasn't gonna wear the dresses, might as well have let you have them. Kind of a dick move not to do that.

I knew you were a murderer!

[Eponine's voice is triumphant, her smile wide. She laughs delightedly.]

I told you I could tell. I always can. I knew with Montparnasse that he were the devil. But the devil is always so beautiful. Like you, Sir. Your eyes are lovely, you know?

[She shakes her head again and laughs softly to herself, remembering some of the other people in her life she's given unwanted compliments to.]

There is a whole city of silly misses who wear jewels and silk and want a rough boy for their fancy. Stupid little sillies who don't know the streets and the men there. He took me to alleys but after the first, at least I knew. And his knife was only to shut me up, not murder. I had nowt worth stealing, not even a life, for I were better the look out and go between than dead in a ditch.

[She shakes her head, laughing at the idea of Montparnasse in a dress.] Sir, they are worth a lot, them dresses. We sell the corset, the silk tights, the underskirts, gown, hoops and bustles and all. Montparnasse makes a small fortune from it. He used to buy me a sausage sometimes. Sausage and mustard was my favourite. If I'd been good to him, he'd buy it me and oh! So delicious, Sir!

[ Amos blinks, genuine confusion taking over his features. Yeah, he's a murderer. He never hid that fact. What is she so giddy about? The fuck do his eyes have to do with anything?

He's so baffled by her moment of supposed triumph it's all he can do but sit there and stare at her as she goes on yet again. Yeah, he's fucked up, but so is she, just in a whole other way, and one he has no idea what to do with.

When he eventually regains his footing, ] So you lured women to their deaths, killed them, stripped them, sold their shit, and ate sausages.

[ Just so he's clear, because that's not a life experience he's ever come close to. This is so out there incredulity takes over, gives him a brief reprieve from all of the anger he's had building up, the tension in his body momentarily easing. ]

And all it took was a knife to shut you up?

Not me. What woman would go with me? Only men came with me, Sir, though it were coins, not lives they gave me.

[Her cheeks flush with colour as she realises how candidly she's spoken, what secret she's given away. She speaks hastily.]

Not often. Just - if you are starving, you do as you must, yes?
My man, Montparnasse, were the killer. He was so beautiful, but cruel.

[To the question about the knife, she laughs.]

When I were a child, yes. A knife to my throat and I shut up like a nun's - well... But now? No. It makes me laugh. For 'Parnasse is quick with a knife, but I am faster to get it from his fingers if he don't concentrate. It is my Pa's belt that I hate more. I'd do anything to avoid the belt, but for my sister, I take hers and mine. She's stupid, my sister. Now, I shut up, for if I told, they'd kill me slow. Or the police would. I am too far into the gang to be allowed free by anyone.

[ His look is blank as he shrugs at her embarrassment. ]

It's an honest living. More honest than killing and stealing.

[ Absolutely no judgment from him; he knows exactly what she's talking about, has lived it himself.

The rest of her mile a minute talking, there's only so much he can discern from. Doesn't know who 'Parnasse is; doesn't know who her sister is, either, but he does like the fact that she'll protect her, a lone win in his mental catalogue of Eponine amid the ever-increasing collection of strikes. ]

Well, I don't got a belt here.

[ There's no inflection to his voice; he could be joking or totally serious. Even Amos isn't entirely sure — he gets wanting to avoid memories of abuse but damn she will not shut up.

Cocks his head as her final words sink in. He doesn't like her, no, but he's familiar with being trapped in an impossible situation and, well, she probably doesn't deserve that. So, after a pause, ] Could always kill the gang leader. 's what I did.

[She smiles shyly at Amos, glad that he’s accepted her past with slur or condemnation. Most people wouldn’t. She chuckles though.]

Ain’t honest if you pick a pocket whilst they’re enthralled, Sir. That is not so honest. But do they deserve it? It is only to get fair pay for it. Or enough for sausage or pie.

[ Eponine hugs her arms about her as Amos mentions the belt. Her smile becomes rueful. He wants her gone. She leans forward so she’s hunched over and shuffles her feet in the dust of the courtyard, tracing a pattern with her toe.

She still doesn’t go, though her expression is wary. She hates being hit more than anything, and she knows if she pushes the wrong buttons, Amos’ll go for her.]

You killed your gang leader? So you were the head of it? Me, no. I can’t do so. There are four heads and they are like a worm. If you chop one, another will grow. And two, two you cannot touch. Monsieur Claquesous, he is one with the shadows, him. All masks and faces and names and so slippery he even vanished from a prison cart and left his handcuffs behind. And they put ‘em tight on us, behind you and that, but he still slipped ‘em. My Pa were there with him, and he swore he didn’t see it. And Montparnasse is the other. I thought we’d be married, once. But no. He likes me for an alleyway, to warm his bed. Marriage is not for me. I’d like it though. Marriage. It’d be nice to be a lady.

[ Against all odds, the corners of his lips quirk upwards, something of a smile showing through. Like an inside joke only certain people who have lived through certain things may get and, turns out, they might both be that person. ]

Not your problem if they're not paying attention. You find a way to get some power back, situation like that? You take it.

[ And it isn't often he regrets things he says. No, strike that; he never does. But she looks smaller, when she curls in on herself like that. Younger. Amos doesn't know how young she actually is — certainly not young — but. Maybe young enough. Either way. He looks away from her as she does it, stares back out at nothing. Swallows. The anger building up inside him is still there; at some point, he's going to let it loose. Doesn't know when, just... he knows himself well enough to know it's going to happen.

Reflexively clenches and unclenches his fists; lets his hands fall on his lap. Not resting them, just. A place for them to be, in the meantime. ]

No. I killed him and I left. Past can't come back for you if it's dead, so.

[ A lopsided, half-hearted shrug; a sudden sense of exhaustion. From seeing her reaction to him, from waiting for the inevitable. It's draining, and it leaves his voice sounding empty. Probably better than the alternative, but it still feels like shit, especially when he knows this is only a temporary reprieve. ]

I knew this woman once. [ Lydia. Though he's not going to say her name out loud; that's too personal. Too private. ] She did what she had to in order to survive. Part of that was warming beds, sure. Lost touch with her. Found out later, after she'd died, that she did get married. Nice guy, too. So I dunno. Guess anything's possible.

[ They were pulled into another world, after all; anything really is possible, isn't it. ]

Yeah. I guess so. Not if they keep us locked up here? Who should marry me in here? There is one boy I saw, in the horizon. He is so beautiful, you know? And he spoke to me. He fixed my doll. But here? No. I wonder if he was just a dream too. Even if he was real though, who would marry us here? A prison wedding is a miserable affair, I think.

[Eponine uncurls herself slowly. She edges closer and closer to Amos until their knees are almost touching.]

You’re a kind man, you know? To tell me such fairytales. It’s nice to hear them. Even to hear it from a brute of a man such as you. Me, I would be a friend if you’d have me. I were teasing before. So bored am I that I hoped for a fight but no. You’re kind. Would you have me?

[ He listens to her — she still goes on and on, but now it's less of an irritant, more of a... just something that's there, would feel weird if it stopped — but continues to stare out at nothing. Yeah, she's right. They'll probably just die miserably in prison. Alone, but that goes without saying. That's how people die.

Looks down when he catches her movements out of his peripheral vision, first at their knees, then back up at her face. He's still tired, but maybe he didn't fuck up as bad as he thought. He still did, but it's more of the "drown my sorrows in the fact that I'm irredeemable in a days-long bender" fuckup, less the "pick a fight I know I can't win so someone finally puts me out of my misery" fuckup.

You know, if either was an option. Which they're not. Because prison. ]

I'm not kind.

[ He's not. Brute is a good word for him; monster would be better. His words aren't from someone who protests too much, they're from someone who's long ago accepted the ugly truth about himself. Doesn't know what he did to make her think otherwise, unless life was so shitty to her that her standards are so low that he could ever be considered kind.

Which, he knows about life being that shitty. Amos pauses. ]

I can protect you. Anyone tries to fuck with you, I can kill them. That's about all I'm good for. [ His eyes dart in a guard's direction, back at her again. ] Might get that fight out of me, anyway.

You'd do that?

[Eponine's genuinely touched... but she has a sinking feeling in her stomach too. She knows exactly what she's said to Homelander about Amos and it isn't exactly complimentary. That fight is probably going to be battering her if he ever finds out. But he won't, surely?]

No one's never done that before. Always I've just looked after myself. I don't think no one's ever cared if I survived a fight before. It's good of you, Sir. I don't care if you don't think you're kind. You're good, you know.

[ He shrugs, non-committal even though his words are a commitment; exhausted with himself. But when he says something, he means it. So. Yeah. ]

Sure.

[ He'd do that. Wouldn't have said it otherwise. From her words, Amos knows all about the kind of life she's lived, is more than familiar with it.

He blinks, stares when she calls him good. That's what. He's trying; that's what he's trying to be. He can never get there on his own, though.

Except here he's on his own. And someone thinks that of him. And he genuinely doesn't know what to do with that, but it feels like an added pressure to doing right by her. Makes it more important.

He should probably actually say something. Blinks again after his prolonged silence. ]

Name's Amos.

'Ponine. Well, Eponine really, but you might call me whatever you will.

[The silence hadn't bothered her. She'd used the time to study Amos, taking in his bristly hair, his sun-weathered skin, his sturdy chest. If she forms an opinion of him, she doesn't show it, doesn't say it. As he speaks though, she edges closer so that their knees meet.]

I like that. Amos. It sounds like a word I know. Amos. Amour. It is love, no? I told you there was kindness there. See! I know lots of things, me.

[ He glances down when he feels their knees touch, an implicit sensation of trust. Feels. He's not sure. He's probably going to fuck this up; he really needs not to.

Doesn't move away. 'Ponine it is, then. It's not a name he's ever heard before, but not like that makes a difference.

Furrows his brows at her analysis of his name, though. At the sign of The Lovers that he'd been branded with upon arrival, splayed out for all to see on the back of this shitty tunic. It all feels like some sick joke. ]

Maybe. Think your analysis might be off, though. [ He doesn't want to take anything away from her now, but it's— Love doesn't exist, is the thing. ] That kind of thing doesn't really apply with me.

I dunno. Though, what is a name anyway? My mama called me for a romance novel she read once, and my sister Azelma the same, and la petit Gavroche, just so. All us with fancy names when we are street rats. She should have been better giving us a common name: every man in the underworld knows Eponine Jondrette. Everyone knows to give me passage safe or risk the Patron Minette. Or, I suppose now, they would have known to hold me until the Patron Minette found me. They would have had favour then.

[She shrugs] Perhaps it was good I were pulled here then, for I would have been murdered at home. Here at least, it is only a jail cell. But if my name were just Charlotte or the like, I could have disappeared even in France. With a name like Eponine, it is on a lot of lips, you know? Perhaps Amos the same?

[ Oh, okay. Her name's from a book. Makes sense why he's never heard of it before, then; he's never read a romance novel in his life, probably never will. Just not his style.

He— gets what she means, though. A street rat with a fancy name. That's not something that happens; nobody he knew growing up had one of those. They're all just commoners with common names. Anyone with something fancy — well, he wouldn't have judged, but plenty of people would have. Trying to sound better than you were. Maybe it'd get you more, better clients. Maybe it'd mean you'd think you were better than the rest of them. Not that he'd have ever cared, but the dichotomy between worlds does exist.

He sighs, pulling himself away from his past. It's over. It's done with. There was nothing pleasant to remember and it's in everyone's best interests that he was removed from it. ]

It's a common name.

[ Is it? He says it almost robotically, like it's something he's convinced himself of. Like it's an excuse for something. ]

Names hold a lot of power, yeah. You couldn't just change yours? Guess it don't matter here, but still. Why not just say you're someone else? Spare yourself the trouble, disappear.

[ It's... exactly what he did, actually. Found a way to overcome the technological barriers, got out by changing his name. Though if the opportunity hadn't presented itself through outside forces, he never would've done it. Wouldn't have even thought about it.

Still a question worth asking, though, since he's keenly aware of what a life-saving option it turned out to be. ]

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INTRO LOG #2

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Cw for murders

cw reference to prostitution + associated violence

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