Angel doesn't make a point of checking if Dahlia's free. He just sort of shows up at her office one day with a small basket of herbs that he and Eddie have grown in the greenhouse, pokes his head in, and sees if she'll talk to him.
Dahlia always tends to be a bit out of sorts in the days that follow Mourner’s Night, heavy ceremony that it is, but she looks up and snaps out of her haze when the door opens. "Oh--- hi Angel! Everything okay?" It's unusual for people to visit her at work.
Cerrit is polite enough to wait for a day or two after the community gathering and all the other bullshit going on at the bulletin board before making his approach. It's early evening at the Leeds estate. Cerrit has, again, brought food. This time, squirrels. They make for good eating.
I understand, with our fallout prior to my departure, communication from me may be entirely unwelcome. Furthermore, this level of formality may or may not be construed as cold, but I want to be clear: I've hurt you deeply, I've abused your trust, and this is a very deliberate effort on my part to give you personal space.
I could try to explain myself, but I won't bother, not when the wounds are so fresh and I truly want to avoid causing you any further pain. The simple fact is, you were hurt. I was hurt--but I caused that first injury, and for that I am truly sorry. Given time, perhaps we can talk more freely without bad blood to cloud our perception of each other.
Until then, I serve at your pleasure--and I am writing for purely professional reasons. I want to apologize for my recent absence, both intentional and beyond my control. Should you wish me to resign as your personal assistant, I will do so, but it is my hope to continue under my current terms of employment.
Please let me know at your earliest convenience. If you don't wish to speak to me or see me, writing is perfectly acceptable.
Sincerely, Ianto Jones
P.S.: If you would, when next the fireplace in your personal quarters is cleaned, please check the crevasse between the bricks in the back right corner. There's something there I'd like you to have. In that life I dreamed, I stole a bit of him back from the universe for you. In this one, all I could do was give myself away to make sure you were safe.
I just hope that little trinket brings you comfort.
A conversation is certainly in order. There are some things I think it's high time I air out, and I think it's best if done now while our relationship, both romantic and professional, are in a state of transition. That way, all of our cards can be on the table as we decide how to move forward.
Well, here he is, reporting to the Leeds Estate to get some job training straight from Dahlia's staff. Which is kind of intimidating, because this place is huge and fancy and Jeff's totally out of his element.
Also he's totally uncomfortable in his work uniform. It's not the skirt that bugs him, really. It's the fact that the uniform isn't his style, so he doesn't feel like himself.
But then, uniforms have never been his style. He'd probably be just as-- if not more-- uncomfortable in a fucking butler suit or something. And one possible plus side of the uniform: it kind of makes him want to present himself better, like, overall. That's probably good, right?
ANYWAY, he's mostly trying to stick with the staff and learn what he can, generally avoiding the lady of the house when possible, because again! Totally out of his element here. And it's probably pretty clear from his body language that he's feeling totally awkward and insecure.
It's been such a long month, hasn't it? But the trials of one Dahlia Leeds are not over when she, at last, manages to make it back to her home. The first sign that something is wrong is that one of the front windows has been smashed open; the culprit, an outdoor chair swept up in the flood, is still half-in the -
- A webbed blue hand on a slender arm reaches out to the back of the chair and yanks it inward.
Entering the front room where the famous vampire-enhanced gala was held reveals a scene of controlled chaos. A great deal of the furniture and decorations have been re-set back in their places, with ropes nailed to the walls or floor holding them in place, though some of the more complicated pieces like suits of armor have not been reassembled. An oily fire burns in the hearth, accelerant from watertight containers used to get the wet wood to burn in a vain effort to dry out the still-soaked room, and all around is evidence of smashed bottles, glasses, and other paraphernalia of entertainment...that is being swept up. There is a dead girl here, floating a few inches off the ground, still in the shitty clothes newcomers arrive in though her boots and socks seem to have gone missing. In her hands is a harpoon to which she has lashed a broom, and with it she is sweeping up glass and broken wood, flakes of paint that have dried in the sun, and ruined plant matter and other garbage from the flood.
The opening door gets her attention immediately, her head snapping up with a feral snarl that does not belong on a face that was, until just now, so gentle and curious. Her voice does not cross ears, instead bubbling up in the mind as if from a great depth: ~What manner of scavenger are you, prey-thing?~
When Dahlia drags her bedraggled form back into her family home, the last thing she expects to see is a squatter with aquatic features remodeling her home. Her face immediately falls. A hand slams against the drawer of the end table directly next to the entrance, which once held a decorative plant. Without breaking her gaze on this creature, Dahlia produces from the drawer a gun, and several throwing knives.
"Speak for yourself. Or better yet, get the fuck out of my house."
Walking up to this big old house doesn't half feel strange. But it was here or Dahlia's office and the house seemed, to Daisy, like the safer choice given the necessary secrecy. So, the house it is.
She knows Dahlia's in, rather than back in town—Hunter's nose. But when she gets up to the door she suddenly doesn't know if knocking the door on a house this size... works, and so she pulls out her sending stone instead.
"Hey, Dahlia. I'm sort of outside your house. Thought it might be a good time for a chat."
"Oh--- Yes, alright. Let yourself in, I'll be right down," Dahlia replies, a bit surprised. Dahlia's never experienced the very modern cultural aspect of cell phones that is calling someone to tell them you're outside in lieu of knocking, so it never occurred to her to use the stones that way. Kind of handy, honestly.
As promised, she appears in the foyer not long after.
However long it takes to walk back to town from the ruined cabins, it is only about that much time before a voice comes in on Dahlia's speaking stone.
Miss Leeds, this is Cassandra de Rolo. I apologize for the hastiness of this message, but it is of the greatest possible urgency that I speak privately with you. Please let me know where we might meet.
Deeply entrenched in her work, Dahlia nearly leaps out of her seat when the stone abruptly begins ringing and then speaking. She'll never get used to that.
Hm. Well that can't be good. "Not a problem, Cassandra. I'm at work, but I'd be happy to speak with you in my office. When can you be here?"
Cerrit does call ahead and make sure he might be welcome for a visit before showing up at the Leeds Manor. He brings some rabbit stew with him, because hospitality rules never really leave one behind.
"Dolly?" He knocks on the front door and waits for her.
Dahlia doesn't hear the door from her study, but one of the maids on her way out for the night (Dahlia no longer keeps the live-in sort and just asks them to come by twice a week for dusting and sweeping) is happy to greet Cerrit at the door and let him know where Dahlia can be found. A quick step through her whimsically-decorated living room takes him right back.
She looks up from her book. "Oh, Cerrit--- it's good to see you! To what do I owe the visit?"
It's after the worst of the madness is well and truly over, as things start to get back to as normal as they can be around here, that Daisy turns up at Dahlia's place again looking appropriately sheepish. It's not as if she meant to lie, but Christ she hates being wrong at the best of times and this was certainly not the best of times.
Her smile's as apologetic as it is crooked. "So, that was... embarrassing? Gonna go with embarrassing."
Dahlia is out in the garden when she spots Daisy walking up looking like a dog who got caught stealing treats, and crosses her arms, looking amused and a little smug. "Yeah, I noticed I couldn't get ahold of you for, oh, four days. I thought that was very interesting."
The note is in a plain envelope, on plain but nice stationery, and it isn’t signed. There is, however, a doodle of a chicken on the back of the paper if it is inspected.
One monster to another: judge yourself by the company that keeps you.. Outside eyes can see things you don’t.
And if you can’t manage that? It’s okay. Try not to be too hard on yourself. I promise, there’s at least one person in this town who learned something new last night that would still like to buy you a drink and get to know you better.
A sealed envelope arrives for Dahlia two days after her disastrous birthday party. It's in Erik's usual business stationary, and his name with return address are printed neatly in one corner. Beside Dahlia's name on the outside of the envelope it also reads: please open. If and when she does open it, there will be a heartfelt letter waiting for her:
My dear friend, Dahlia, I make a point of writing that at the top so that you know where the two of us still stand. I suspect that worry must hang heavy in your mind. The way in which your true nature was revealed was unfair and unkind, but it changes nothing between us. I, too, have been called a monster. I, too, feed on the blood of men and women to sustain myself.
I can already hear the argument you must be making in your mind: that we are not the same because I do not kill. It was not always that case, Dahlia. I have killed, and I have done so in places where the dead stay buried. It's clear to me that none of this was your choosing. I have never been one to punish the child for the sins of the father. I would have no ground to judge you even if I did. Right now, however, I am sure what you need is not a judge, but a friend.
I am here. Let me help you, or comfort you. I await your call, when you are ready.
I can only assume we are not on decent terms, after all, I am a friend of Neil and have been suspicious of you for some time. However, after recent events I felt the need to reach out.
You see, we have something in common.
We have both been pawns in the plans of those we believe are more powerful than us.
But once a pawn crosses the board, she becomes a queen.
The nausea hadn't suddenly switched itself off like a light when the mask finally came off, it'd just changed into a more general sense of illness and the fear of being trapped, helpless and unhelpful. (God, he's probably hanging out with Sims too much, if he's just casually using phrasing like that.)
But the point is, when he flees the house at Dahlia's command, it was never meant to be forever. He just needed to get out, clear his head. That's why he returns the next morning, ringing the bell on Dahlia's front door. He's not sure what he can say to make this better, but...he's here to try.
After a meeting with the Ocularum, Jon has little time to waste before he sets his and Neil's plan into action. It's difficult, to find a time when there aren't familiar strangers mingling around that tall fence in daunting numbers, and even more difficult yet to find a time when he could slip through undetected. It takes a monumental effort to find a moment when he could even potentially begin to thread the needle to the estate - and even then, it doesn't come without it's own challenge. At least this challenge is familiar.
From the other side of the gate, Jon flags Daisy down, trying not to look as awkward about all of it as he is beneath the surface. He clears his throat, uneasily, before he calls over the short distance.
He's never been an especially good liar, but the truth certainly isn't going to get him anywhere right now. Sorry, Daisy.
"Daisy! I've been--- invited up to the Estate," He settles on, wishing he'd come up with something more convincing on the way over. Why didn't he think about this sooner? He really needs to start at least thinking before he leaps, if he's still so hellbent on failing to look. "I'll be in and out without any trouble."
Daisy hears and smells him coming before he calls to her—sorry, Jon, your Eye stink is really rather a lot—but she deliberately waits, rather than call attention to him immediately. He could be here just to talk to her, that would be the simplest version of events, which of course means that's not what he's actually here to do.
Christ, he is not as good of a liar as he'd like to be. Deadpan and dry, she asks, "Yeah? Funny, thought Dahlia would've warned me about that."
Daniil Dankovsky loves to investigate matters that he has no relation to.
Okay, that's not exactly it. He doesn't particularly enjoy prying in strangers' interpersonal relationships. Not at all, in fact. However, he really can't help himself— his professional curiosity just bleeds into his daily life, whether he likes it or not. Next thing he knows, he's at the rumored Dahlia Leeds' place, trying to meet with her in spite of the many warnings he's been given. It's just how he is— innocent until proven guilty, yes?
Still, he didn't expect a woman so feared to have an estate of this size. Surely she couldn't be all that bad?
When the new man approaches Leeds Estate, it is a wonder that he isn't accosted or run off by one of Dahlia's people. They've been protective of her since the gala, rarely letting anyone near, but things have calmed down since the casino.
His knock on the large front door summons a willowy woman, thin and pale to the point of sickly, dressed modestly for the size of her home. It's not hard to glean that she feels unwell. Her dark, shark-like eyes regard him with steely suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"
Blooms are scarce to come by, now. The bouquet in her hands is some of the last remnants of what there was to offer, after the Dance and the rest - she can't say why she brought them, only that it felt odd to show up empty handed. Flowers are safe. Can be burnt, if you don't want them. Can be collected if one doesn't sleep and instead wanders the nearby areas until their hands ached some with cold, intent on seeing an idea through.
She had meant for this to happen at the lodge. But she hadn't seen the woman on her own, and Fever had chosen to respect that seclusion, the same as she had in November. Time, though, presses upon her. It has to be now. She can't just wait for Dahlia to emerge before she speaks.
So, Fever waits after knocking on the door, and when it opens, holds out the small bunch of flowers.
At last, Dahlia's palace guards have loosened their grip, allowing guests up to Dahlia's lonely tower. When the door is knocked on, Dahlia answers it herself, looking... drained again. She got her fix at the casino and hasn't eaten since. She's once again bundled in too many blankets and a too-large dressing gown. But Fever... Fever is allowed.
"Of course," she says, standing aside. "...Are those for me?"
One morning, Mayor Poe gets a form from the Safety Council added to her stack of things to sign. Oh, yeah, I guess they didn't know who to pass it along to since Miss de Rolo left, so they gave it to me to give to you, says Radar blithely.
Good enough for a stressed-out mayor: she signs off with only a tiny frown and a shrug, and just like that, he and Dahlia've got the hot springs to themselves for twenty-four hours.
He whistles cheerily for a good chunk of the walk from the train station, pausing midway up the trail to cordon it off behind them with a standard CLOSED FOR BRUTOK INFESTATION sign. "You know this is the first time I been up here? The closest we got to anything like it is a couple saunas in Tokyo."
"I used to come up here often," Dahlia muses, coming inside. "It's really nice, but a pain to get to, so it's usually kind of quiet anyway. But I don't think I've ever had it completely to myself, uninterrupted. And it'll be more fun with you."
She smiles wryly as they enter the dressing room together. A small wooden structure with cubbyholes and curtained changing stations. No towels, but Dahlia brought those.
Patty hesitates for a moment at Dahlia's front door, taking the invitation out of her pocket as if to make sure the words hadn't changed themselves since the last time she looked. But no, they're still are: she's been invited to have tea with Dahlia Leeds.
The richest woman in town.
She is so intimidated right now. Even with Hector and Pokey's coaching and their help picking out her outfit, she's terrified that she'll say the wrong thing, or burp uncontrollably, or knock over a spendy vase and doom all the Bizzyboys to eternal servitude! And that would suck!
But it's not like she can turn the invitation down or anythin', geez! She's just gotta try hard and do her best. And be careful with where she puts her tail.
Shoving the invitation back into her pocket, she sets her shoulders and rings the bell. Here goes nothing!
It takes a minute, but the thick mahogany door creaks open slowly open to reveal Dahlia Leeds--- a slim, pale woman in a blue dress, blonde hair tied back in a French twist. Her brown doe eyes are wide-set, but somehow there seems to be something almost shark-like about her at first. Like a predator peeking out from a bush.
But the moment she sees Patty, she seems to soften. There's something very genuine about the change, as if anything about her that was dangerous simply melted away in the presence of the other woman.
"Hi," she says, offering a handshake. "I appreciate you coming by. It's nice to meet you properly."
The flight back to town was mostly quiet, and there was little further conversation afterward. But a few words of some importance were exchanged, and one matter made entirely clear on Dahlia's part.
It's the following morning when a letter, in a clear crisp hand, is delivered to Leeds Manor.
To Dahlia Leeds,
I hope that all is well with you this morning, and that you will allow me to spend little time on pleasantries under the circumstances. You were direct and forthright with me last night, and I appreciate it greatly; I hope and trust that you will appreciate the same from me now.
Let me say plainly that I cannot understand your refusal to countenance anyone being on good terms with both yourself and Dr. West, and that not understanding it, I cannot like it very well. However, I need neither understand nor like your decision to choose to accept it; and I find that your goodwill is important enough to me to do so. And for reasons you may understand after last night's performance, I cannot in the slightest dispute your point about the difficulty in trusting one who attempts to play both sides.
For my part, then, I will not seek out Dr. West's counsel or company, nor converse with him beyond the requirements of civility. All I ask is that you tell me, should you at any time in the future find it possible to explain the matter further.
In closing, my thanks once again for your assistance in returning to town last night, and for your willingness to be plain with me. If you wish anything more of me, please ask, and I will do what I may.
A response arrives roughly a week later. Given Pumpkin Hollow's small size, it can be assumed this is not due to delivery time, but to Dahlia struggling to construct a response. Her own handwriting is small, flourishing, practiced.
Cassandra,
Thank you for your letter. I appreciate your honesty with me, and I certainly cannot say I do not understand your reservations on this matter. Certain aspects of my history with Dr. West must seem very strange to you, as well as the fact that there are details I am not at liberty to share at this time. I do hope that with time you will come to trust my judgement on this, though I will not delude myself into believing that such good faith can be earned overnight. However, at the risk of sounding foreboding, I do believe that eventually you will come to understand my reasoning very well indeed.
For some time now, you and I have performed a strange dance. That terrible minuet of noble women who only half-trust one another, gambling for one another's secrets or favor until a status as friend or foe can be established. I am relieved at the idea that this performance may at last be in its final bows. I had several sisters who were quite adept at this sort of social chess, and enjoyed it, I believe. But let it be my first proper overture of friendship to tell you that I find the Great Game to be deeply miserable. I do it as an instinct, I think. Like a hissing cat, trying to protect itself from the unknown. It's challenging to override all that training. But I do look forward to knowing you, beyond the vague sense that there is much that we likely have in common.
In any case, I am grateful to have this boundary accepted. I am aware that you have friends who consult with the Ocularum, and such overlap is to be expected in this situation. My only request is that with these individuals, you do not disclose anything specific about me or my family to them, unless you believe it would spare them from an immediate threat of danger. You have my blanket permission to break confidence to aid those in harm's way, but please use it sparingly, as it is very important to me to mitigate the amount of information that gets back to West. I hope I do not come across too harsh in this request.
Thank you, again, for your understanding and willingness to put your faith in me. As soon as I can, I will make this all make sense. We are nearing a resolution.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thethirteenthchild
After Mourner's Night
Date: 2023-12-18 06:47 am (UTC)Re: After Mourner's Night
Date: 2023-12-18 05:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2024-02-10 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-11 08:04 pm (UTC)"Oh, Cerrit..." She takes a step back to let him inside. "It's good to see you, I'm sorry I haven't been... around much. What's the occasion?"
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From:A letter sent to Dahlia Leeds
Date: 2024-02-19 11:06 pm (UTC)I understand, with our fallout prior to my departure, communication from me may be entirely unwelcome. Furthermore, this level of formality may or may not be construed as cold, but I want to be clear: I've hurt you deeply, I've abused your trust, and this is a very deliberate effort on my part to give you personal space.
I could try to explain myself, but I won't bother, not when the wounds are so fresh and I truly want to avoid causing you any further pain. The simple fact is, you were hurt. I was hurt--but I caused that first injury, and for that I am truly sorry. Given time, perhaps we can talk more freely without bad blood to cloud our perception of each other.
Until then, I serve at your pleasure--and I am writing for purely professional reasons. I want to apologize for my recent absence, both intentional and beyond my control. Should you wish me to resign as your personal assistant, I will do so, but it is my hope to continue under my current terms of employment.
Please let me know at your earliest convenience. If you don't wish to speak to me or see me, writing is perfectly acceptable.
Sincerely,
Ianto Jones
P.S.: If you would, when next the fireplace in your personal quarters is cleaned, please check the crevasse between the bricks in the back right corner. There's something there I'd like you to have. In that life I dreamed, I stole a bit of him back from the universe for you. In this one, all I could do was give myself away to make sure you were safe.
I just hope that little trinket brings you comfort.
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Date: 2024-02-20 05:32 pm (UTC)A conversation is certainly in order. There are some things I think it's high time I air out, and I think it's best if done now while our relationship, both romantic and professional, are in a state of transition. That way, all of our cards can be on the table as we decide how to move forward.
Meet me at my estate this evening.
Best,
Dahlia AnastasiaL Leeds
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From:CW: non-fantasy cannibalism, non-graphic references to suicidal ideation
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From:A Phone Call
Date: 2024-02-24 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2024-02-24 08:31 pm (UTC)"Leeds Estate, this is Dahlia."
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From:A note in the post addressed to Dahlia Leeds
Date: 2024-03-05 08:06 pm (UTC)You can respond if you like, but don't feel you have to if you still need your space.
I miss you, and I hope you're well. If you need to feed, please come find me. However, if you don't need to, I'm hosting a get together.
Check the bulletin board. I'd like to see you, cariad.
All my love,
Ianto
job training
Date: 2024-03-12 03:20 pm (UTC)Also he's totally uncomfortable in his work uniform. It's not the skirt that bugs him, really. It's the fact that the uniform isn't his style, so he doesn't feel like himself.
But then, uniforms have never been his style. He'd probably be just as-- if not more-- uncomfortable in a fucking butler suit or something. And one possible plus side of the uniform: it kind of makes him want to present himself better, like, overall. That's probably good, right?
ANYWAY, he's mostly trying to stick with the staff and learn what he can, generally avoiding the lady of the house when possible, because again! Totally out of his element here. And it's probably pretty clear from his body language that he's feeling totally awkward and insecure.
Why did he agree to this again?
Re: job training
Date: 2024-03-13 12:24 am (UTC)"Good morning, Jeff! You look very cute. Ready to get started?"
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From:Land Ho | An Uninvited Guest
Date: 2024-04-30 10:43 pm (UTC)- A webbed blue hand on a slender arm reaches out to the back of the chair and yanks it inward.
Entering the front room where the famous vampire-enhanced gala was held reveals a scene of controlled chaos. A great deal of the furniture and decorations have been re-set back in their places, with ropes nailed to the walls or floor holding them in place, though some of the more complicated pieces like suits of armor have not been reassembled. An oily fire burns in the hearth, accelerant from watertight containers used to get the wet wood to burn in a vain effort to dry out the still-soaked room, and all around is evidence of smashed bottles, glasses, and other paraphernalia of entertainment...that is being swept up. There is a dead girl here, floating a few inches off the ground, still in the shitty clothes newcomers arrive in though her boots and socks seem to have gone missing. In her hands is a harpoon to which she has lashed a broom, and with it she is sweeping up glass and broken wood, flakes of paint that have dried in the sun, and ruined plant matter and other garbage from the flood.
The opening door gets her attention immediately, her head snapping up with a feral snarl that does not belong on a face that was, until just now, so gentle and curious. Her voice does not cross ears, instead bubbling up in the mind as if from a great depth: ~What manner of scavenger are you, prey-thing?~
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Date: 2024-04-30 11:51 pm (UTC)"Speak for yourself. Or better yet, get the fuck out of my house."
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From:sometime after NHIE
Date: 2024-05-23 09:34 pm (UTC)Walking up to this big old house doesn't half feel strange. But it was here or Dahlia's office and the house seemed, to Daisy, like the safer choice given the necessary secrecy. So, the house it is.
She knows Dahlia's in, rather than back in town—Hunter's nose. But when she gets up to the door she suddenly doesn't know if knocking the door on a house this size... works, and so she pulls out her sending stone instead.
"Hey, Dahlia. I'm sort of outside your house. Thought it might be a good time for a chat."
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Date: 2024-05-25 01:00 pm (UTC)As promised, she appears in the foyer not long after.
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From:The morning after Seeing Red
Date: 2024-07-07 11:21 pm (UTC)Miss Leeds, this is Cassandra de Rolo. I apologize for the hastiness of this message, but it is of the greatest possible urgency that I speak privately with you. Please let me know where we might meet.
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Date: 2024-07-08 12:17 am (UTC)Hm. Well that can't be good. "Not a problem, Cassandra. I'm at work, but I'd be happy to speak with you in my office. When can you be here?"
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From:A Visit
Date: 2024-07-13 03:46 am (UTC)"Dolly?" He knocks on the front door and waits for her.
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Date: 2024-07-21 05:12 pm (UTC)She looks up from her book. "Oh, Cerrit--- it's good to see you! To what do I owe the visit?"
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From:action, post-blight [nsfw to be assumed]
Date: 2024-08-28 07:38 pm (UTC)It's after the worst of the madness is well and truly over, as things start to get back to as normal as they can be around here, that Daisy turns up at Dahlia's place again looking appropriately sheepish. It's not as if she meant to lie, but Christ she hates being wrong at the best of times and this was certainly not the best of times.
Her smile's as apologetic as it is crooked. "So, that was... embarrassing? Gonna go with embarrassing."
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Date: 2024-08-28 07:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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From:Mail - about three days after the Gala
Date: 2024-09-22 04:27 pm (UTC)One monster to another: judge yourself by the company that keeps you.. Outside eyes can see things you don’t.
And if you can’t manage that? It’s okay. Try not to be too hard on yourself. I promise, there’s at least one person in this town who learned something new last night that would still like to buy you a drink and get to know you better.
I hope you’re doing okay.
[Letter] Following the 25th birthday reveal
Date: 2024-09-23 09:56 pm (UTC)My dear friend, Dahlia,
I make a point of writing that at the top so that you know where the two of us still stand. I suspect that worry must hang heavy in your mind. The way in which your true nature was revealed was unfair and unkind, but it changes nothing between us. I, too, have been called a monster. I, too, feed on the blood of men and women to sustain myself.
I can already hear the argument you must be making in your mind: that we are not the same because I do not kill. It was not always that case, Dahlia. I have killed, and I have done so in places where the dead stay buried. It's clear to me that none of this was your choosing. I have never been one to punish the child for the sins of the father. I would have no ground to judge you even if I did. Right now, however, I am sure what you need is not a judge, but a friend.
I am here. Let me help you, or comfort you. I await your call, when you are ready.
Sincerely,
Erik
After the gala
Date: 2024-09-24 05:39 pm (UTC)I can only assume we are not on decent terms, after all, I am a friend of Neil and have been suspicious of you for some time. However, after recent events I felt the need to reach out.
You see, we have something in common.
We have both been pawns in the plans of those we believe are more powerful than us.
But once a pawn crosses the board, she becomes a queen.
Just something to consider.
-Valdis
A few days later.
Date: 2024-09-25 12:57 pm (UTC)I appreciate the sentiment. However, please be aware that not every silence is broken. Even the goddesses are still tongue-tied.
I hope you find what you were looking for.
Regards,
D.A. Leeds
Re: A few days later.
From:After the Gala
Date: 2024-10-12 04:12 am (UTC)But the point is, when he flees the house at Dahlia's command, it was never meant to be forever. He just needed to get out, clear his head. That's why he returns the next morning, ringing the bell on Dahlia's front door. He's not sure what he can say to make this better, but...he's here to try.
Statement of Dahlia Leeds
Date: 2024-10-22 12:26 am (UTC)From the other side of the gate, Jon flags Daisy down, trying not to look as awkward about all of it as he is beneath the surface. He clears his throat, uneasily, before he calls over the short distance.
He's never been an especially good liar, but the truth certainly isn't going to get him anywhere right now. Sorry, Daisy.
"Daisy! I've been--- invited up to the Estate," He settles on, wishing he'd come up with something more convincing on the way over. Why didn't he think about this sooner? He really needs to start at least thinking before he leaps, if he's still so hellbent on failing to look. "I'll be in and out without any trouble."
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Date: 2024-10-22 12:36 am (UTC)Daisy hears and smells him coming before he calls to her—sorry, Jon, your Eye stink is really rather a lot—but she deliberately waits, rather than call attention to him immediately. He could be here just to talk to her, that would be the simplest version of events, which of course means that's not what he's actually here to do.
Christ, he is not as good of a liar as he'd like to be. Deadpan and dry, she asks, "Yeah? Funny, thought Dahlia would've warned me about that."
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Date: 2024-11-26 08:12 am (UTC)Okay, that's not exactly it. He doesn't particularly enjoy prying in strangers' interpersonal relationships. Not at all, in fact. However, he really can't help himself— his professional curiosity just bleeds into his daily life, whether he likes it or not. Next thing he knows, he's at the rumored Dahlia Leeds' place, trying to meet with her in spite of the many warnings he's been given. It's just how he is— innocent until proven guilty, yes?
Still, he didn't expect a woman so feared to have an estate of this size. Surely she couldn't be all that bad?
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Date: 2024-11-27 12:42 am (UTC)His knock on the large front door summons a willowy woman, thin and pale to the point of sickly, dressed modestly for the size of her home. It's not hard to glean that she feels unwell. Her dark, shark-like eyes regard him with steely suspicion. "Can I help you with something?"
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From:december.
Date: 2024-12-03 06:44 am (UTC)She had meant for this to happen at the lodge. But she hadn't seen the woman on her own, and Fever had chosen to respect that seclusion, the same as she had in November. Time, though, presses upon her. It has to be now. She can't just wait for Dahlia to emerge before she speaks.
So, Fever waits after knocking on the door, and when it opens, holds out the small bunch of flowers.
"Can we talk?"
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Date: 2024-12-04 05:35 am (UTC)"Of course," she says, standing aside. "...Are those for me?"
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From:[february-ish]
Date: 2025-02-11 02:56 am (UTC)Good enough for a stressed-out mayor: she signs off with only a tiny frown and a shrug, and just like that, he and Dahlia've got the hot springs to themselves for twenty-four hours.
He whistles cheerily for a good chunk of the walk from the train station, pausing midway up the trail to cordon it off behind them with a standard CLOSED FOR BRUTOK INFESTATION sign. "You know this is the first time I been up here? The closest we got to anything like it is a couple saunas in Tokyo."
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Date: 2025-02-11 08:34 pm (UTC)She smiles wryly as they enter the dressing room together. A small wooden structure with cubbyholes and curtained changing stations. No towels, but Dahlia brought those.
"This was a really clever idea, by the way."
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From:Sometime after Efrain's final opera...
Date: 2025-05-13 03:34 pm (UTC)The richest woman in town.
She is so intimidated right now. Even with Hector and Pokey's coaching and their help picking out her outfit, she's terrified that she'll say the wrong thing, or burp uncontrollably, or knock over a spendy vase and doom all the Bizzyboys to eternal servitude! And that would suck!
But it's not like she can turn the invitation down or anythin', geez! She's just gotta try hard and do her best. And be careful with where she puts her tail.
Shoving the invitation back into her pocket, she sets her shoulders and rings the bell. Here goes nothing!
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Date: 2025-05-13 04:31 pm (UTC)But the moment she sees Patty, she seems to soften. There's something very genuine about the change, as if anything about her that was dangerous simply melted away in the presence of the other woman.
"Hi," she says, offering a handshake. "I appreciate you coming by. It's nice to meet you properly."
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From:Feels like a wrap to me, boss!
From:[Backdated] Late March, after the Opera
Date: 2025-07-29 03:06 am (UTC)It's the following morning when a letter, in a clear crisp hand, is delivered to Leeds Manor.
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Date: 2025-08-24 01:27 pm (UTC)Cassandra,
Thank you for your letter. I appreciate your honesty with me, and I certainly cannot say I do not understand your reservations on this matter. Certain aspects of my history with Dr. West must seem very strange to you, as well as the fact that there are details I am not at liberty to share at this time. I do hope that with time you will come to trust my judgement on this, though I will not delude myself into believing that such good faith can be earned overnight. However, at the risk of sounding foreboding, I do believe that eventually you will come to understand my reasoning very well indeed.
For some time now, you and I have performed a strange dance. That terrible minuet of noble women who only half-trust one another, gambling for one another's secrets or favor until a status as friend or foe can be established. I am relieved at the idea that this performance may at last be in its final bows. I had several sisters who were quite adept at this sort of social chess, and enjoyed it, I believe. But let it be my first proper overture of friendship to tell you that I find the Great Game to be deeply miserable. I do it as an instinct, I think. Like a hissing cat, trying to protect itself from the unknown. It's challenging to override all that training. But I do look forward to knowing you, beyond the vague sense that there is much that we likely have in common.
In any case, I am grateful to have this boundary accepted. I am aware that you have friends who consult with the Ocularum, and such overlap is to be expected in this situation. My only request is that with these individuals, you do not disclose anything specific about me or my family to them, unless you believe it would spare them from an immediate threat of danger. You have my blanket permission to break confidence to aid those in harm's way, but please use it sparingly, as it is very important to me to mitigate the amount of information that gets back to West. I hope I do not come across too harsh in this request.
Thank you, again, for your understanding and willingness to put your faith in me. As soon as I can, I will make this all make sense. We are nearing a resolution.
Your friend,
Dahlia A. Leeds