CLOSED | prompt eight | RUIN

[dondarrion]

prompt eight | R U I N dressing-room style. closed to rog.

 

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PENN | castaways

[cremations]

[ He shakes his head; shuts his eyes and makes a hushing sound. (That's enough.) Penn's living is made on his compassion, and he plenty to spare. ]

No. [ His voice is soft, subdued. Like an undertaker's. ] No no no. [ His smile is sad. ] What happened to you— that wasn't your fault.

[escapings]

No. Maybe. I mean—

[ The majority of the time, this isn't a subject that Nellie has to broach. She moves around too much to stay tethered long enough to tell the story, and even when she does, it's not one she likes to tell, just the same as every castaway. Fingers knit together, she changes and changes their configuration, the line of her mouth shifting this way and then that. ]

—part of it is. Isn't it?

[cremations]

[ Everyone has a story to tell; Penn travels enough to hear a lot of them. (And those that share — can you blame them? It's nice to know somebody's listening. Even when it's a stranger and even if it's only for a little while.)

Most castaways have sad stories to tell. But Penn also knows that sometimes kids do too.

He watches her hands, then her chin, then finally meets Nellie's eyes. He looks sad but understanding. (It's the set of his face; he can't help it.) ]

It's not your responsibility. It never was. [ Some castaways hate hearing that. It makes them sound helpless, like puppets strung up on strings of nostalgia and love. ] And that's okay.

[escapings]

[ Sad but understanding. To a degree, it's the way all castaways are. They aren't made to be happy, but to bring happiness, and there's not a one of them that doesn't understand what the others have gone through. It's a part of their title, after all.

Nellie's mood doesn't seem to ease, a flush finding her cheeks as she continues to avoid Penn's gaze. ]

If it wasn't, then it— it is, now. He's coming after me because I shouldn't— because I should be—

[ Because I shouldn't exist and my little boy is going to make sure that I don't. ]

That's my responsibility. Kind of.

[cremations]

Your responsibility, [ she says, patient as ever. ] You're only responsibility, from the very beginning— [ Penn leans forward a little, covers Nellie's hand with his own, his chin craning just far enough to try and catch her gaze. ] —was to care about him. And you did.

[ You do, he thinks might be more accurate, but he won't put those words in her mouth and her heart, not when it sits too close to an open wound.

In a way, they're not so different — Penn and Nellie's kid. They're both wishful boys who grew up to be lonely men, and they both kill memories in the hopes of purging their own — one out of empathy, the other out of bitterness. (He doesn't want to destroy Nellie, but Penn will if she asks.) ]