Closed RP: Susan is Not Happy (and when Susan ain't happy, NOBODY is happy)
((Backdated to February 10, just after Stephen's popcorn-letter))
( Hope you have got your things together/Hope you are quite prepared to die/Looks like we're in for nasty weather/One eye is taken for an eye/So don't come 'round tonight/It's bound to take your life/There's a bad moon on the rise )
( Hope you have got your things together/Hope you are quite prepared to die/Looks like we're in for nasty weather/One eye is taken for an eye/So don't come 'round tonight/It's bound to take your life/There's a bad moon on the rise )
He didn't know what it was like for Susan to snap. He was only mortal, and his coping mechanisms were fewer and less byzantine. He did, however, know what it was like to hit a point worse than rock bottom, go right through the rock and hit lava underneath. Go homicidal.
Despite all his machinations and plans, there was a part of Charles that knew he'd never truly be forgiven for what he'd done that day in the Albemarle Inn. He wanted nothing more than to go back: hence the appeal of obliviation; hence the bittersweet savor of that afternoon he'd spent playing cards with a Camilla magically returned to childhood. The Macaulay twins excelled at self-delusion, and he wanted nothing more than to go back, though he'd never want to take back trying to kill Henry (he still wanted to do that). But part of him knew it was no good ( ... )
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Charles was setting loose an owl with his short missive to Sansa. He rounded on Wednesday. "You didn't hurt her." It wasn't a question.
"No," said Wednesday mildly, "I didn't."
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He watched the exchange between Charles and Wednesday, interested. Charles definitely really was turning out to be a lot less self-centered than Ryder had pegged him--if he didn't know any better, he'd say the kid was actually being protective.
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Charles didn't know what was going through his own mind himself, really. All he knew was that things were happening fast, and time was of the essence, and he didn't want Susan to get hurt if it was at all possible to prevent that, because Susan was the only person around here who gave a damn about him.
Charles looked hard at Wednesday. "You're Odin?"
Wednesday shrugged. "I have many names. You can call me Wednesday."
Charles turned to Ryder. "He's Odin? And you trust him?"
If what Charles remembered of Norse myth was at all right, no one should trust Odin.
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As if on cue, a lone kitten came in and sat on his boot. He sighed, and picked it up, ignoring the cat hairs that transferred onto his shirt. "Besides, I promised Camilla I'd look after her."
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There'd be blood enough if Susan were left unchecked, though. What was the worst-case scenario?
"Beggars can't be choosers," Wednesday reminded a silent and apprehensive Charles.
Charles exhaled a long harsh breath. "True enough." He believed Ryder, even if he couldn't trust Wednesday. Why did he trust Ryder? Because Ryder made sense. He said he'd made a promise to Camilla. That was logic Charles could understand.
"Don't worry," he told Ryder. "Milly's safe."
Wednesday raised an eyebrow.
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Ryder wouldn't be surprised if Wednesday didn't care what happened to Susan, so long as she was neutralized as a threat. He himself did, though, even if it was for rather dodgy reasons--aside from his promise to Camilla, Susan was entertaining in her weirdness, and Ryder didn't want his own personal TV show losing a character. They really were the wrong reasons for wanting to make sure someone came out in one piece, but they were reasons nonetheless.
"So let's find this Sansa kid--the sooner we deal with all this, the better."
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