Is he entirely serious? Daud’s first instinct is that it has to be a show. After the outbursts Roy’d thrust his way and the fervor with which they’d been given, this intensity of apology seems unlikely, maybe impossible.
Only there’s the way Roy so often careens to extremes (and isn’t that familiar?). There are the signs in his posture, and there’s the seeming sincerity in his voice. There’s the way he’d delivered that opening sentence, what could have read as accusation but seemed instead a cover for - truly? - concern. He might be speaking truth. The bastard might actually be speaking truth.
It’s puzzling.
It’s puzzling, and it’s been a long and ragged week, and what does that mean, ’I need to get better’? At keeping his mouth shut? At climbing? At killing.
…..well.
This apology - if it counts as an apology - doesn’t make up for the headache Roy had caused. The way a night of surveying had gone so swiftly sour. Doesn’t make up for the (not hurt, just) irritation Daud had nursed after.
Not does it make up for the fact that there were points Roy may have been right about. Doesn’t change the way they’ve wormed into his memory, arising when he dares to stop in silence. ]
[Well... technically, he did answer Daud's question. Just not in great detail, instead relying on a blindingly intense look to carry his message through.]
He still doesn't know what to do with the apology or its seeming sincerity, nor with the sense that in an instant, Roy could be back to snarling, hurling supposed truths (some actual truths) and playing the righteous, wounded one. (It's nothing Daud can't handle. It's tiresome, but hasn't he met with worse?) ]
He isn't comfortable with any of this. With Roy's concern for making others proud; with Roy's concern for making him proud (though he must be only a stand-in, a first step toward or representation of some vaster recognition). With the idea of teaching him anything. With the idea of teaching him to more effectively kill.
They're here to kill. They've been brought here to kill.
But that isn't what Daud is anymore.
But look at the Strix attack. Look at how easily he'd slipped into it.
And there's a war approaching. (It's different, isn't it? Killing in a war versus killing for coin? Daud's not so sure. It amounts to much the same in the end.)
[Roy straightens up. Stands his ground. Not in an adversarial way, but in a way that suggests he won't be discouraged or dissuaded. He doesn't glare or curl his lip or bunch his fists, but his body language nonetheless makes it obvious that this is the path he has chosen and the path he will not, cannot stray from.]
But as selfish as it makes me, I want it all the same.
[ Deeply discomforted, Daud can't hide all the signs of his unease. He runs a hand through his hair, looking away, wishing this entire conversation could have been avoided. Again: He never should have returned to his room. Should have continued his business elsewhere.
But this is what's before him, and he has to say something. Has to make some choice, Void help him, never mind that he's beginning to feel a fine slick of nausea through his chest. This is what he'd wanted to get away from. The man doesn't know what he's asking. (Who ever does? When had Daud ever known?) ]
I'm not concerned about your selfishness, if that's what you want to call it.
[ His eyes are back on Roy, searching the man's face, registering the strength of his assured defiance. ]
Teach you to kill more efficiently. To kill without losing yourself. That's what you mean, isn't it?
[ He’s had purpose in the past. Was driven by a deep sense of purpose his entire life, until everything fell apart in a moment, in that one ill-fated mission. After, there had been the search for Delilah, a convenient cover for that fact that his drive had nothing else to attach itself to. And once he’d come here… Well.
It’s been easy to ignore. It’s been easy not to think about. But he can’t deny that something’s missing.
This time there’s an edge to Daud’s words, that acidic bristle Roy must be familiar with. ]
And that’s the purpose I’m meant to claim. Training you so that you can attain the praise of thousands.
I know exactly what I'm asking. What I don't understand is why you're trying so hard to convince yourself you don't give a damn.
[But the truth is, Daud... you give many damns. You give ALL the damns.]
Nobody here doubts you're a certifiable badass, but saving a life? Saving mine? If you're so ashamed of that side of yourself, why do it in the first place?
[ He almost flinches to say the word aloud, he’s been holding it so close since that first day. ]
I didn’t tell you I led a gang. Pulled kids from the streets and trained them to become killers. For nearly twenty years this went on. We bled the city dry. Nearly caused the empire’s ruin.
[ The words are out almost before he realizes, delivered matter-of-fact with the faintest undertone of anger.
Though he falls to silence, there are questions, unspoken questions cycling through his mind: And now they're left alone to be, what, exactly?
And I offered to treat you like one, the very first moment we met. I propositioned you. You refused.
[He remembers that scene quite vividly -- in fact, he remembers them all, because Daud is memorable in nearly everything he says and does. In every irritated twitch of his brow, in every grumpy twitch of his mouth. In every word, in every breath, and in every syllable, he is authentically and unapologetically himself.
And Roy respects that. He has from the very first moment they met.]
You're a good man with a checkered background. It doesn't take away that good. It doesn't change who you are.
[Gingerly, with some awareness he could get his hand lopped off, he touches fingers to Daud's arm.]
You're human, with black and white and all that messed up gray in between -- and it's the gray that really counts in the end.
Edited (I edited a single letter because those things bother me, okay AND THEN I EDITED AGAIN FOR ACTUAL TYPOS.) 2018-06-16 04:03 (UTC)
[ He takes a step back, wary and all too conscious of the way Roy’s touch seared him, the way Roy had so easily accepted Daud's words, the way Roy's own words feel ill-fitting and poorly played.
("You're a good man with a checkered background." If he could believe that. If he could believe that, how would he be? But there’s nothing checkered about it; his past is drenched with, saturated in blood.) ]
I won’t pretend to be a good man. I’ve gone past that point.
[ All he can do now is push ahead and gather what pieces remain. Do what he’s able to keep from creating ruin once again. Or try to be no one at all. Or try to live with scarce a trace.
(“It would give you purpose, wouldn't it?” What’s the worth of purpose when it’s false and devastating? When everything falls apart?)
And what is this? This insistence on gray areas, on being human, on being - what? - flawed but acceptable? It could be that Roy thinks this is the route toward getting his way. That by assuaging Daud’s doubts, he’ll ease Daud into accepting the role of trainer.
It doesn’t sound like a ploy. Roy sounds, Roy looks to be in earnest. And maybe this is different. Maybe it’s the motivation (could it be?) that matters. But then, Roy’s skilled at persuasion. Far sharper than his antics may make him seem.
Daud feels disoriented. His head is aching. He doesn’t, he doesn’t like this. ]
I don’t see what this has to do with your training.
Edited (maybe i just wanted to join the editing party it looked like fun) 2018-06-16 04:41 (UTC)
cw: reference to violence against children / war crimes
[Something he makes no excuses for, despite his words -- the shame that flits across his feature, descends like a curtain, could not be faked.]
Even if I'm so forgone I can't see the light in front of me... I refuse to believe there's nothing in this world but shadow. I won't let that darkness overtake me again. I won't let it overtake you, either. That hand that caught me -- it was stronger than anything I've ever felt.
[Perhaps unwisely, Roy follows after that step. Raises his fist, meets Daud's gaze unwaveringly.]
It wasn't instinct, or pragmatism, or any other bullshit. You wanted to catch me. Because you wanted to be something more. You wanted to see that light too!
cw: reference to violence against children / war crimes
[ That’s it, then. Roy’s admission brings with it a sudden clarity, almost welcome amid the current chaos: This is what the man wants to avoid. Roy’s concerned about what he’ll do, what he might do if he slips into frenzy again.
Which is why he wants the training.
The deeds of a lifetime can lodge themselves deep down inside you, work you in ways beyond comprehension and control. What’s Roy’s talking about - the murder of these children - must be a part of what moves him. Must as well be connected to whatever darkness he’s discussing; something that may have lingered long before the children, something that led to and was fueled by every wretched act.
Every wretched choice.
It’d taken Daud years to learn that every action has its consequences, that those consequences matter even far beyond his self.
How he’d lived… It wasn’t being covered in darkness so much as understanding something in the wrong way. It was refusal. A refusal to see beyond the bounds of his moment and missions, his ill-crafted goals. It was letting himself become something so far that he couldn’t see beyond its edges, couldn’t see how it was limited and destined to collapse.
None of what has happened can be undone. And it isn’t Daud’s aim to be a good man. But maybe it’s possible to find another way to live. Not to erase what he’s done or been, but to become otherwise.
It isn’t anything he’s put into words before.
It seems, feels accurate.
Still distinctly uncomfortable, Daud holds his ground, doesn’t look away from Roy. ]
I’m not interested in any light. I wouldn’t put it that way.
[Reaching into the folds of his tunica, Roy pulls out a roll of parchment -- the very same one he carried with them on their fated rooftop excursion. He offers it Daud, almost like a bargaining chip. Almost like a key to the place no one else could go.
Almost like equivalent exchange, and an acknowledgment to everything that Daud has ever said or done.]
Take this first.
[And if he does, if he unrolls it, he will see that Roy has finished their map with an admirable degree of detail. Locations noted, details dotted finely as an artist could manage. Neat handwriting, helpful notes for nooks and crannies. There's still room for improvement. There's still spaces left -- perhaps purposely -- blank. Spots that belong to Daud, that he scouted himself and Roy only caught glimpses of. Perhaps he was hoping Daud would finish what they started.
Perhaps he was hoping Daud would finish it, in this and other things as well.]
[ He does unroll the scroll, cautiously, uncertain of what he’ll find.
It’s better than passable work, and Daud spends a solid couple of minutes looking over its particularities, reviewing the notes and noticing how each aspect of the map recalls its location clearly. He notices the blank spaces, as well, guesses at their purposes and doesn’t feel annoyed. This extended perusal is a testament to his regard for the work. A sign that he considers it worth his time, that he finds value in engaging with it.
And that it should be the map from that night— Daud doesn’t know how to interpret the gesture, precisely, but there’s some sense of ease in seeing it. Something that leaves him a little better able to believe Roy’s intentions.
He looks from the map to Roy, watches for a moment, then rolls the scroll again and moves to unlock the door.
If Roy follows him inside, he’ll find a room kept mostly bare, though there are pieces of parchment scattered across the open bed, along with an extra half-folded tunica or two. Across the walls can be found charcoal maps in various stages of draft form: maps of the complex, of various parts of the city. Though incomplete and accompanied by near-illegibly scrawled writing, these maps are meticulously drawn, clear representations of the places they’re meant to show. ]
[Naturally, Roy follows his lead. It's what he vowed to do from the very beginning, after all.
And as if on cue, some of his gumption drops the instant he crosses the threshold and enters Daud's abode. He bites back his nervousness, knows this would only serve to hurt the strong case he's built so far; he has to just roll with it, even acknowledging that this a major step in the right direction.
That even if the war wasn't yet won, he'd prevailed in the battle, and that had to count for something.]
Thanks.
[Hopefully he didn't sound too abashed, or look it, as he sits down and as his eyes wander aimlessly around the room. Awaiting direction, awaiting orders.]
[ Better than good, really. And he'll study it in greater detail later. For now, Daud places the scroll on the bed with the scattered parchment pieces and leans against the wall nearest Roy, once again folding his arms.
He still isn't certain what to make of this. What Roy's asking and whether it's something new, or more of the same corrosive work. Why all of this has him so wound up. Why he's permitted anyone at all to enter his room.
Better not to think. Only find the path ahead. Of course, of course. ]
If I agree to do this, I need to know you'll do exactly as I say.
[ It might, if it weren't for certain rooftop incidents. Daud's look may say as much, though he doesn't speak the thought out loud. Not after Roy's just offered the map. Not after what Roy had admitted. ]
And you're a man who has particular ideas about his individuality.
[ He does believe Roy, mostly. Believes at least that Roy wants to attend. But he's seen too much of the man's dramatics, his shifting personae, to move ahead without lingering on this detail. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Is he entirely serious? Daud’s first instinct is that it has to be a show. After the outbursts Roy’d thrust his way and the fervor with which they’d been given, this intensity of apology seems unlikely, maybe impossible.
Only there’s the way Roy so often careens to extremes (and isn’t that familiar?). There are the signs in his posture, and there’s the seeming sincerity in his voice. There’s the way he’d delivered that opening sentence, what could have read as accusation but seemed instead a cover for - truly? - concern. He might be speaking truth. The bastard might actually be speaking truth.
It’s puzzling.
It’s puzzling, and it’s been a long and ragged week, and what does that mean, ’I need to get better’? At keeping his mouth shut? At climbing? At killing.
…..well.
This apology - if it counts as an apology - doesn’t make up for the headache Roy had caused. The way a night of surveying had gone so swiftly sour. Doesn’t make up for the (not hurt, just) irritation Daud had nursed after.
Not does it make up for the fact that there were points Roy may have been right about. Doesn’t change the way they’ve wormed into his memory, arising when he dares to stop in silence. ]
‘Every syllable.’
[ He sounds doubtful. ]
I don’t know what you’re asking. What you want.
[ True and not. ]
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[Well... technically, he did answer Daud's question. Just not in great detail, instead relying on a blindingly intense look to carry his message through.]
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He still doesn't know what to do with the apology or its seeming sincerity, nor with the sense that in an instant, Roy could be back to snarling, hurling supposed truths (some actual truths) and playing the righteous, wounded one. (It's nothing Daud can't handle. It's tiresome, but hasn't he met with worse?) ]
Why would I do that.
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[Alright, fine, he'll give a little more here.]
So you can look at me, and... see someone to be proud of. That my men, my country, and my world can be proud of.
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He isn't comfortable with any of this. With Roy's concern for making others proud; with Roy's concern for making him proud (though he must be only a stand-in, a first step toward or representation of some vaster recognition). With the idea of teaching him anything. With the idea of teaching him to more effectively kill.
They're here to kill. They've been brought here to kill.
But that isn't what Daud is anymore.
But look at the Strix attack. Look at how easily he'd slipped into it.
And there's a war approaching. (It's different, isn't it? Killing in a war versus killing for coin? Daud's not so sure. It amounts to much the same in the end.)
And. And. ]
...I don't think you need that from me.
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[Roy straightens up. Stands his ground. Not in an adversarial way, but in a way that suggests he won't be discouraged or dissuaded. He doesn't glare or curl his lip or bunch his fists, but his body language nonetheless makes it obvious that this is the path he has chosen and the path he will not, cannot stray from.]
But as selfish as it makes me, I want it all the same.
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But this is what's before him, and he has to say something. Has to make some choice, Void help him, never mind that he's beginning to feel a fine slick of nausea through his chest. This is what he'd wanted to get away from. The man doesn't know what he's asking. (Who ever does? When had Daud ever known?) ]
I'm not concerned about your selfishness, if that's what you want to call it.
[ His eyes are back on Roy, searching the man's face, registering the strength of his assured defiance. ]
Teach you to kill more efficiently. To kill without losing yourself. That's what you mean, isn't it?
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[Maybe he went too far with that particular sentiment, but with how softly it was spoken, it seems to have come from a place of genuine fondness.]
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It’s been easy to ignore. It’s been easy not to think about. But he can’t deny that something’s missing.
This time there’s an edge to Daud’s words, that acidic bristle Roy must be familiar with. ]
And that’s the purpose I’m meant to claim. Training you so that you can attain the praise of thousands.
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Training me, so I don't kill me, and drag those same thousands down in the process.
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Still. The bastard has a point. ]
Good to know you recognize your shortcomings.
[ Still, still. ]
You don't know what you're asking.
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[But the truth is, Daud... you give many damns. You give ALL the damns.]
Nobody here doubts you're a certifiable badass, but saving a life? Saving mine? If you're so ashamed of that side of yourself, why do it in the first place?
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But really, though. Really. ]
You mistake me.
I told you I was an assassin.
[ He almost flinches to say the word aloud, he’s been holding it so close since that first day. ]
I didn’t tell you I led a gang. Pulled kids from the streets and trained them to become killers. For nearly twenty years this went on. We bled the city dry. Nearly caused the empire’s ruin.
[ The words are out almost before he realizes, delivered matter-of-fact with the faintest undertone of anger.
Though he falls to silence, there are questions, unspoken questions cycling through his mind: And now they're left alone to be, what, exactly?
And what would they have been, without me?
What would have remained unbroken? ]
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[He remembers that scene quite vividly -- in fact, he remembers them all, because Daud is memorable in nearly everything he says and does. In every irritated twitch of his brow, in every grumpy twitch of his mouth. In every word, in every breath, and in every syllable, he is authentically and unapologetically himself.
And Roy respects that. He has from the very first moment they met.]
You're a good man with a checkered background. It doesn't take away that good. It doesn't change who you are.
[Gingerly, with some awareness he could get his hand lopped off, he touches fingers to Daud's arm.]
You're human, with black and white and all that messed up gray in between -- and it's the gray that really counts in the end.
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("You're a good man with a checkered background." If he could believe that. If he could believe that, how would he be? But there’s nothing checkered about it; his past is drenched with, saturated in blood.) ]
I won’t pretend to be a good man. I’ve gone past that point.
[ All he can do now is push ahead and gather what pieces remain. Do what he’s able to keep from creating ruin once again. Or try to be no one at all. Or try to live with scarce a trace.
(“It would give you purpose, wouldn't it?” What’s the worth of purpose when it’s false and devastating? When everything falls apart?)
And what is this? This insistence on gray areas, on being human, on being - what? - flawed but acceptable? It could be that Roy thinks this is the route toward getting his way. That by assuaging Daud’s doubts, he’ll ease Daud into accepting the role of trainer.
It doesn’t sound like a ploy. Roy sounds, Roy looks to be in earnest. And maybe this is different. Maybe it’s the motivation (could it be?) that matters. But then, Roy’s skilled at persuasion. Far sharper than his antics may make him seem.
Daud feels disoriented. His head is aching. He doesn’t, he doesn’t like this. ]
I don’t see what this has to do with your training.
cw: reference to violence against children / war crimes
[Something he makes no excuses for, despite his words -- the shame that flits across his feature, descends like a curtain, could not be faked.]
Even if I'm so forgone I can't see the light in front of me... I refuse to believe there's nothing in this world but shadow. I won't let that darkness overtake me again. I won't let it overtake you, either. That hand that caught me -- it was stronger than anything I've ever felt.
[Perhaps unwisely, Roy follows after that step. Raises his fist, meets Daud's gaze unwaveringly.]
It wasn't instinct, or pragmatism, or any other bullshit. You wanted to catch me. Because you wanted to be something more. You wanted to see that light too!
cw: reference to violence against children / war crimes
Which is why he wants the training.
The deeds of a lifetime can lodge themselves deep down inside you, work you in ways beyond comprehension and control. What’s Roy’s talking about - the murder of these children - must be a part of what moves him. Must as well be connected to whatever darkness he’s discussing; something that may have lingered long before the children, something that led to and was fueled by every wretched act.
Every wretched choice.
It’d taken Daud years to learn that every action has its consequences, that those consequences matter even far beyond his self.
How he’d lived… It wasn’t being covered in darkness so much as understanding something in the wrong way. It was refusal. A refusal to see beyond the bounds of his moment and missions, his ill-crafted goals. It was letting himself become something so far that he couldn’t see beyond its edges, couldn’t see how it was limited and destined to collapse.
None of what has happened can be undone. And it isn’t Daud’s aim to be a good man. But maybe it’s possible to find another way to live. Not to erase what he’s done or been, but to become otherwise.
It isn’t anything he’s put into words before.
It seems, feels accurate.
Still distinctly uncomfortable, Daud holds his ground, doesn’t look away from Roy. ]
I’m not interested in any light. I wouldn’t put it that way.
But your words aren’t lost on me.
[ He nods toward his door, a stiff gesture. ]
Come inside.
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[Reaching into the folds of his tunica, Roy pulls out a roll of parchment -- the very same one he carried with them on their fated rooftop excursion. He offers it Daud, almost like a bargaining chip. Almost like a key to the place no one else could go.
Almost like equivalent exchange, and an acknowledgment to everything that Daud has ever said or done.]
Take this first.
[And if he does, if he unrolls it, he will see that Roy has finished their map with an admirable degree of detail. Locations noted, details dotted finely as an artist could manage. Neat handwriting, helpful notes for nooks and crannies. There's still room for improvement. There's still spaces left -- perhaps purposely -- blank. Spots that belong to Daud, that he scouted himself and Roy only caught glimpses of. Perhaps he was hoping Daud would finish what they started.
Perhaps he was hoping Daud would finish it, in this and other things as well.]
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It’s better than passable work, and Daud spends a solid couple of minutes looking over its particularities, reviewing the notes and noticing how each aspect of the map recalls its location clearly. He notices the blank spaces, as well, guesses at their purposes and doesn’t feel annoyed. This extended perusal is a testament to his regard for the work. A sign that he considers it worth his time, that he finds value in engaging with it.
And that it should be the map from that night— Daud doesn’t know how to interpret the gesture, precisely, but there’s some sense of ease in seeing it. Something that leaves him a little better able to believe Roy’s intentions.
He looks from the map to Roy, watches for a moment, then rolls the scroll again and moves to unlock the door.
If Roy follows him inside, he’ll find a room kept mostly bare, though there are pieces of parchment scattered across the open bed, along with an extra half-folded tunica or two. Across the walls can be found charcoal maps in various stages of draft form: maps of the complex, of various parts of the city. Though incomplete and accompanied by near-illegibly scrawled writing, these maps are meticulously drawn, clear representations of the places they’re meant to show. ]
Have a seat if you'd prefer.
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And as if on cue, some of his gumption drops the instant he crosses the threshold and enters Daud's abode. He bites back his nervousness, knows this would only serve to hurt the strong case he's built so far; he has to just roll with it, even acknowledging that this a major step in the right direction.
That even if the war wasn't yet won, he'd prevailed in the battle, and that had to count for something.]
Thanks.
[Hopefully he didn't sound too abashed, or look it, as he sits down and as his eyes wander aimlessly around the room. Awaiting direction, awaiting orders.]
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[ Better than good, really. And he'll study it in greater detail later. For now, Daud places the scroll on the bed with the scattered parchment pieces and leans against the wall nearest Roy, once again folding his arms.
He still isn't certain what to make of this. What Roy's asking and whether it's something new, or more of the same corrosive work. Why all of this has him so wound up. Why he's permitted anyone at all to enter his room.
Better not to think. Only find the path ahead. Of course, of course. ]
If I agree to do this, I need to know you'll do exactly as I say.
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[Doesn't that say enough in itself?]
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And you're a man who has particular ideas about his individuality.
[ He does believe Roy, mostly. Believes at least that Roy wants to attend. But he's seen too much of the man's dramatics, his shifting personae, to move ahead without lingering on this detail. ]
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Well, I'm also an assassin. And I did bring down an entire empire -- just not single-handedly.
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My point exactly.
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