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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Sad? Is it, Sir?

[She looks confused. To her, it's not sad. It just is. But she chuckles at the compliment, suddenly bashful. Eponine lowers her gaze, though there's a hopeful smile on her lips. Perhaps he does think she's beautiful. For once, perhaps he's serious and he finds her attractive and will want her above everybody else and they'll live happily ever after. If he thinks she's pretty even with a swollen face, a black eye and blood all over her, he'll find her pretty later, surely?
But she knows her thoughts are racing too far ahead. Too, too far.
She snatches the bread from him and begins to wolf it down before he can change his mind.]

You are lovely, you know? You have such beautiful eyes. And such hair - it looks as soft as an angel's, Sir.

You don't think so? [ The question is more rhetorical than anything else. ] Sweeties like you shouldn't have their bellies always hungry.

[ He props his elbow up against his knee, as he looks her over. Honestly, he's surprised that some of the nobles don't make pets of the prisoners. That seems like a very noble thing to do, and save the trouble of the castle having to feed the people. But, meh, Ambrose probably thinks the people in the dungeon are too dangerous to let them be trained.

Pity for the locked up. ]

Huh? I am? [ He returns to the conversation when she starts to compliment him. His chest puffs out a little in pride. ] Well, thank you. I'm partial to how I look, too. [ Nice to be recognized as handsome. Nero gives a glance to her hands. His eyes grow a little dull at the thought of her actually touching him before given a proper bath, but! They're becoming friendly. ]

You can touch it if you like... and tell me more stories of what unfortunate things have been happening to you. [ Another smile is offered. ] It seems to me like you could do with a listening ear and sympathetic heart. [ Shame he only has the former. ]

No... It happens to so many. Perhaps not solitary. Perhaps not being punched for a bun. But for hunger? Yeah. Me, I am not so special. But it's nice you think I am sweet.

[She devours the bread, table manners be damned, and licks her fingers and picks the crumbs off her shirt too until every tiny morsel is gone. It doesn't take long.

Once done, she pays attention and as he gives her permission, reaches out to touch his hair. Her hands are dirty, crusted over with blood - her own and Julie's - and dirt as well.]

It runs like silk thread, Sir, or feathers. So soft. So beautiful. Do you really want to listen to me?

[Nobody has ever asked to listen to Eponine before. She hugs herself tight, unable to hide the smile of pure delight on her face.]

What shall I tell you, Sir? Life ain't so bad here, aside from that Mistress Julie. Now she is a bad sort, I think.

That is a good way to view it, sweetie. [ His affection for her has risen some, because he can't really stand people who act like the shit hand they were given is the worst hand out there. ] Such realistic thinking will treat you well.

[ Nero, to his credit, doesn't make much of a face when she starts to touch his hair. He decides not to think much about what's getting rubbed into it. ]

I do really want to listen to you.

[ Yet again, he offers her a smile. ]

Why don't you tell me why Miss Julie and you don't get along?

[She doesn’t reply: what does it matter about realistic thinking? It is what it is and that is that.

She touches his hair only lightly, quite aware of her own filth and other people’s disgust at her dishevelled appearance. Her tunic had been ripped a long time ago when she and Susan had stolen the sweets from the guard. Now it’s stained with blood and dirt from the hard floors she’s been forced to sleep on, as well as missing that square of fabric from the sweets, Eponine knows she looks a mess.

But this man - creature? - doesn’t seem to mind too much. He’s still talking, still smiling, so she smiles back again.]

I don’t know, Sir, truly. She pushed me for the food. It is a shame, you know? Me, I am not so kind as to share food. It is selfish, no? But Sir, always I am hungry. Me, I will do anything for food. I have done what I must for food. But would I push someone what is starving away? No.
She calls me names too. Bitch, slut, whore. I don’t mind. I have had worse from even my Pa than that. Perhaps it’s true anyway. How is she to know what I have done in my past? What does a name matter anyway, Sir?

[ Here he thought everyone in the dungeon were holding hands and singing songs of being united in their struggles and friendship. It warms his heart to know that isn't what is going on at all. His smile naturally softens as he appreciates that some truths of his world are universal truths elsewhere. ]

You really don't mind? Shouldn't some of these honorable men be making sure that pretty sweeties don't get bullied while shit is already hard?

[ Eh. Maybe they like to see girls fight in the dungeon. Wouldn't be the weirdest masturbatory fantasy men have.

He frowns in a thoughtful way as he tilts his head to the side. Nero accepts there is only so much a person can do while locked up so makes sense to find entertainment where they can find it. ]

People like to feel better than the person to their right and spit on the one to their left. [ The elf sighs before he reaches his hand through through bars so he could carefully touch the side of her poor bruised face. ] But you still got some fight in you, right, sweetie?

Why should they care about me? I’m nothing to them. What do they care? It is probably sport to them. They could place bets.

[She snorts and winces as the skin on her face tightens and pulls. She flinches as Nero touches her poor face, but fights her urge to pull back. She stays still, barely breathing, as he strokes her dirty, swollen cheek.]

Me, I am a cockroach. It is a lot to kill me. Not hunger, cold or a beating. It makes me madder, Sir. If I could, I should get my own back on her. But how am I to do that here?

They might very well be.

[ Nero has no way to know if that is or isn't going on. He generally thinks people are not as good as they seem, but he doesn't necessarily think they are as shitty a person as he is. Still placing bets on girls fighting is the least of the nasty things that they could be doing, right? ]

You know, that's a good question, sweetie. [ His immediate thought is that he should get her a knife. But he thought that might come back to bite him. He isn't sure how it will, but something tells him that it will.

But anyway -- best find out Eponine's level of determination before he starts to make any sort of plans. ]

Do you want her dead?

I don't think so. Here, they have locked up the good people and let the bad free.

[She looks pointedly at Nero. She knows exactly what he's doing, exactly how he's trying to wheedle and cajole her. Like calls to like and bad calls to bad.] Well, mostly, anyway, Sir. They got me, didn't they? But I think I am the only rotter they caught.

[She looks away, breaking her accusing gaze from Nero to look down at the dirt floor between them. She feels her stomach drop when Nero asks his question. Suddenly, the 'Sweetie's, the 'pretty girl's seem sickly, It's a front. Eponine knows it, always knew that he had wanted someone. No one would call her pretty, not when they could see Susan or Alina or Relena or others. But Eponine likes it all the same, even if it is a front, even if he's just saying it to get her onside. At least he wants her. She looks up again, back at Nero, but her shoulders drop and she chews the inside of her lip.]

I'm not a murderer, Sir. A lot of bad things I am, but I ain't never taken a life. Anyway, she is bigger and stronger than me, Sir. I have nought but my own hands in here. How can I kill Julie with those?

[ His eyebrows just lift at her pointed expression. He continues to smile despite the quiet accusation of him being a "bad person." It certainly doesn't bother him, because he is fully aware that he's a terrible person. But who says a person can't be terrible, aware of their own awfulness, and still like themselves? ]

You think you're a rotten person? Why's that, sweetie? What you've told me ain't all that bad. You're thinking of how to keep living to the next day. Does that really make a person a terrible? [ In his mind? No. It's more the insides that he's curious about; the reasons for why they do things; their motivations and hopes and dreams as they ruin those around them. ]

Not once? So how can you be a rotten person? I've taken quite a few lives, Eponine-dearie. [ He keeps on smiling. ] Even if she's bigger and stronger than you, you still were able to make sure she suffered for causing you trouble, right?

Lots of ways to kill a person with just your hands. [ His own hand drops to gently run his fingers along her pretty neck, before his touch returns to her swollen face. ] But if you ain't got the drive for it, you'll end up getting killed instead. And I think that'd be a crying shame.

I... I've done bad things. There's the devil in me, so much as I try to be an angel, but it's all the same in the end, isn't it?

[She chews the inside of her lips, debating whether to tell Nero what she's done. But no. She doesn't say what her crimes are, doesn't want to give him the power to hang it over her - for she feels like Nero is the type to do exactly that, should it ever suit him.
Confirmation comes with his cool assessment that not only has he murdered, but he's done it more than once.

Eponine tilts her head, baring her neck for him as his finger travels. It's fitting, isn't it? To be courted or taunted or whatever this is - a mix of both - by a murderer? She doesn't deserve someone gentle, someone kind. She deserves someone who wants to entice her further into the darkness.

She flinches as Nero's fingers return to her face. He might feel a trace of damp on her bruised cheeks; the trace of a desperate tear that has escaped despite all her efforts to hold back. But Eponine nods.]

So I must kill her? If only I should have a knife. Slitting her throat is easier than strangling. Or poison - easier still. Poison would be a good way, for she'd know it too. Feel it.

[She chokes the words out. Eponine doesn't want to kill, doesn't want to blacken her soul, doesn't want to go back to solitary. Again. But she doesn't want to die at Julie's hand, doesn't want Nero whispering in her ear. If she just does it, will everyone leave her alone?]

Can't you help me, Sir? I'll do -

[She takes a shaky breath, knowing the bargain she's offering is one her father has made on her behalf so many times before.]

I'll be at your disposal, to please you and do as you will. If you help me.

I don't think so. There's lots of people who are terrible but manage to do some good. It might just be that you're incapable of doing it.

[ But it seems like the two of them are just saying the same thing to one another. Still, it must make her happy that someone's agreeing with her -- that she's just a person incapable of doing good while others are. ]

That's really up to you, isn't it? If you want my help, I'll be willing to give it. [ Nero offers her a warm, sympathetic smile as he continues to stroke the side of her face. He rubs his thumb underneath her eye that looks just ready to let loose a tear. ]

And, don't worry. I won't let you suffer it all alone. I'm willing to say I'm to blame for this, too, Eponine. [ He absolutely hates people who say that they had nothing to do with someone's downfall. If he's helping, he's helping. That's all there is to it, for him. ]

At my disposal, huh? You're really okay with something like that? That cute little breath you took... swallowing down your pride in order to live... I really like that, sweetie.

[Eponine cries hot, wet tears as Nero rubs her cheeks and under her sore, bruised eyes. She doesn't make any sound: that was beaten out of her long ago, but still she cries. She cries for the pain he's causing her physically of course, but more than that. She cries out of desperation, out of fear, out of being so rotten that she's just incapable of being good. She cries for the realisation of just why someone like Marius won't love her: they're too pure for her blackened soul. And she cries for what she's promised to do in return.]

Help me. Please. Summat sharp. Knife, glass... summat we can blame on someone else. God help me, there's -

[She closes her eyes. This really will condemn her to hell.] There's them here what have actually murdered. They'll be blamed over me, surely?

[She doesn't want Nero to take any blame. Not because he can't but because she doesn't want him near her, taunting her and making her cry.]

I - I'll do whatever - oh god - whatever you want. It... it shan't be - [She closes her eyes and nods, resigned.] God help me, it won't be the first time.

Wow... you really are cute.

[ Indeed, all those big wet tears really speaks to him. He thinks that she looks exceptionally pretty right now, but he doubts that she'd feel the same as he does. But isn't it nice she has a handsome man like himself thinking that she's such a beauty even while bruised, filthy, and crying? Isn't he just such a saint? ]

Of course, of course... since you're feeling this determined, I have no reason not to deny you what you want. [ Nero shrugs his shoulders over her question if the people who are actually murderers will be blamed instead. He supposes if she kicks up enough of a fuss, they might be. ]

They're already suffering in here, you know. You might be condemning some folks to die after killing someone yourself. So long as you're prepared for those consequences... [ His smile sharpens as she really does know how to speak sweet to him. ] Don't act like becoming fellows with me is gonna be a terrible experience.

I'm not so heartless as to make sure the pretties with me don't have a good time.

I... I'm sure it won't.

[She takes a breath, and wipes her hands roughly over her eyes. She's a mess - bruised, filthy, crying... and yet here Nero is, still talking to her. Still wanting to be with her.

She takes a minute or so to calm herself. What's the use in crying anyway? No one cares. No one listens. No one except Nero, and he insights her to murder.]

Better they lose a life than me though, no? I don't want to be executed. I don't want my death to hurt. And they are old, and me, younger. They've had a life. And Amos, already he murders. What is one more to him?

Well, so long as you're sure!

[ Nero smiles bright at her, letting his hand fall away so that she can clean up her face some. It doesn't seem to help that much, to him, but so long as it makes her feel better, who cares, right? ]

Quite the cold way to view things, missy, and I'm sure one day you'll think the same way towards me. [ His words don't sound accusatory but happy. Being betrayed means very little to him. So long as a little personal responsibility is taken, he can be betrayed one-hundred times over and never feel an ounce of anger for it. ]

But that's for the immediate future. Guess for your future, we should start thinking of silks and other nice things for you to wear, right, cutie? What colors do you like best?

Silks?

[She echoes dumbly. She’s never worn silk in her life, not once. Silk’s for rich people. Maybe this man, this conversation is all a hallucination? God, she hopes it is.]

Red, Sir. Red, pink, green, blue. But pink is for spoiled maids and I ain’t that. Pink is that girl’s dress, and blue.

[she shakes her head.]
Me, no. I don’t like that. She truly is beautiful, like a doll. Red is for me, I think.

Silks.

[ Nero echoes back, merrily. He thinks that it'll be difficult to sneak a knife to her, but he could sneak it in a pretty dress. ]

That girl's? [ Cocking his head to the side, he wonders who she's talking about, and isn't sure if he's going to be told or not. ] I think you're just as pretty as a doll, Eponine. If you want blue, have blue.

You know who it is, Sir. If you’re in my head you know her. Cosette, you know? That’s her name. Cosette. You know her, yes? She’s pretty.

[Eponine’s head lolls against the bars. Between starvation, concussion and her own desperation, she’s still not truly sure if Nero isn’t a hallucination.]

Marius loved her, you know? He’s never look at me, so much as I wanted him to, but he loved her. She wore blue silks. Blue and pink. For me, no. I watch in rags and dirt from the sides. But you know that. You know how my heart hurts for it. But it don’t matter. Me, I’m for nasty men with voices in my ear to kill and murder or men what hold their knives to my throat or…

[She laughs again, voice cracking with the pain of her acknowledgement.]

It don’t matter. She’s for pinks and blue. Me, I am hard and red and green and purple I think.

If I'm in your head? [ Nero has a sinking feeling that the pretty girl seems to think he's some figment of her imagination. He isn't quite sure how he feels about that since he can't imagine himself being anyone's fantasy.

But he lets her carry on with explaining who "she" is and who "he" is. The elf makes a soft thoughtful sound in the back of his throat as he pieces together what she's saying. It's nice, at least, that she understands that she's rotten enough of a person to imagine someone's telling her to kill and know that person might not even exist, that she's just listening to her own dark impulses and urges. ]

Hey, sweet pretty. [ He smiles yet again. ] I don't think Cosette and you are all that different. It ain't because you wore rags and a little dirty that he didn't look at you.

[ He pets her hair, soothingly, lovingly. ]

It's because you look down at yourself. You don't like yourself much. Liking to live and liking yourself are two different things, in my humble opinion. How can you expect someone to love you when you don't love you? But, again, don't worry. I'll still appreciate you even if you can't appreciate yourself.

I used to, Sir. She were the one in rags and I were in the dress. A pretty child, I was, and all. Now, I am a bitch, an idiot, a whore and the rest of whatever they want to call me and I don't care but it means a man shan't love me. Not a gentleman like Marius. Only men like you.

Thank you, Sir, for noticing me. For thinking I'm pretty. Thank you.

You're still pretty. [ Nero likes how ugly her insides are, and continues to pet her hair. ] I don't know much about Marius save for what you're saying, but he sounds like he's really got you fooled. Do you think a gentleman would allow a pretty thing like you to be treated bad? To let you hear what people say and only have yourself in your corner?

[ He lightly pats her face. ] You're welcome, of course! I'll tell you as many times as you like how pretty I find you, sweetie.

And bring me the dress?

[She pulls her face away: his taps hurt and she knows he knows it.]

I'll be waiting, Sir, for you.

And I'll bring you a dress.

[ He promises yet again before getting up to leave. ]

Always nice to have a pretty girl waiting for me!

[ It is his parting remark before he heads out to acquire a red silk dress for Eponine. ]

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INTRO LOG #2

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