ph_logs | what arms have lain under my head til morning? [mixed]

At least, this time, when he shows up at Sally's door he doesn't have to yell to be let in he tells himself grimly as he steps through and into Tarantula's bedchamber. He's been made aware of the full scope of Tarantula's trespasses, including with Max. He's furious about all of it, and yet he's determined not to walk out of this room as an enemy. Taratulas has made quite enough of those, now. It won't help.

Calm. Erik's face is a stony mask revealing nothing. "I've come to see how you and your child are faring now."

Tarantulas eyes Erik with open trepidation -- open fear, in fact. Gone is his arrogance and assurance that he can face whatever comes; when Erik mentions his child, he instinctively glances down at Dawn in the little crib Arthur Morgan borrowed from one of his neighbors, and then silently curses himself for a fool.

"We're both well, as you can see," he says quietly, hands slowly clutching at his blankets until his knuckles turn white. "But I can't imagine that's the only thing you came for." Not with that fierce look on his face.

"You had to know there would be a reckoning. I've had time to talk to the others. The people you hurt. Now it's time for us to talk. But, before we get into that, know that you have my word as a vampire that I intend no harm to your child. She is innocent and I will make sure to do everything in my power to see she comes to no harm."

He feels an almost inexplicable sense of responsibility to that child having helped bring her into the world alive.

"What happens now, Tarantulas? What will you do next?"

"God." Tarantulas rubs his forehead, his lidless auxiliary eyes flexing under the pressure and then popping back into place like jelly molds. "What does it mean, that despite everything I still believe you?"

He glares at Erik, but it's clear his spark isn't in it. He says, "I don't know what happens next, all right? I didn't have a plan for this phase, I put everything I had just into making sure she'd be born."

He looks away, lips pressed together. "I suppose I thought I'd be run out of town for making a deal with a demon, considering all the trouble they cause. I haven't yet ruled it out as a possibility."

"I've never given you any reason to doubt my word."

He absorbs that glare, keeping his expression set stubbornly blank. Until Tarantulas finally opens up and admits the first of many hard truth. Then, sympathy warms his expression.

"I won't allow anyone to run you out of town. There is no guarantee they will be kind to you after what you've done. Least of all the people you betrayed. But, they know that the woods is no place to raise your daughter and if they do not know they will be reminded." By Erik. Firmly.

"As for your part, you have a responsibility to get a plan in order. You cannot afford to relax now that you've gotten what you wanted. It is only the beginning. You will need help."

"Unlike me, you mean? Yes, you're very noble."

Tarantulas shies away from that sympathy, like a cellar spider might shy away from the sun. It's too bright for him, it burns. He fears it may blind him.

"I want to protect her from the consequences of my actions," he says plaintively. "I made my choices; if there must be punishment, then let me bear it alone. She doesn't deserve to suffer." But then his voice hardens, and he snarls, "But that doesn't mean I'll tolerate being separated from her, either. Not for longer than it takes to return from death."

He sounds desperate as he explains, "I already had one child taken away to be raised by another, I won't tolerate it again." And he adds, almost as an afterthought, "Someday, if everything goes well, she'll be her own person, independent and strong. But right now she still...she almost feels as though she's still a part of me. I put too much of myself into her, I couldn't bear to live apart."

"Vampire word is law. I don't break my oaths." It's not so much noble as it is an important pillar of vampire societal norms.

"No one will take her from you. I won't tolerate it, either. She is yours to raise. But, don't you see, Tarantulas? She will suffer if you do. Her fate is tied to yours. Once she's old enough, your actions will be known to her. She will have to bear the knowledge of how she was created and carry that with her always. If you are not careful, one day, she may come to feel as betrayed by you as your friends do now. You cannot protect her from the consequences of her own birth, no matter how hard you try. That is the true tragedy of this."

"What? But...I..." Tarantulas trails off, looking lost. Finally he says, slowly, "I've given this child everything I have. My body, my health, my safety, my relationships, my peace of mind. I gave all these things freely, with no expectation of being repaid with anything other than the joy of her existence. How could she resent me for that?"

In his confusion, the look he gives Erik is perhaps sharper than would be entirely diplomatic. He says, "You wouldn't say this to me just to hurt me. You're more insightful than that, you knew I wouldn't understand it -- and that would defeat the purpose. Why would you say such a thing to me?"

Edited 2024-04-29 04:51 (UTC)

Erik's expression doesn't change at all.

"I hoped you might understand. I am telling you these things to teach you, to help you. There is time, while she is still too small and unaware, to try to mend what has been broken. If you love your daughter, you must work to earn acceptance in this town's society once more. You cannot allow yourself to be shunned.

"Think, Tarantulas. Think through the eyes of your child. Think of how she may grow to resent the people here if she sees them treat her father poorly. Think of how she will question if it's her own fault. She will question it. Mark my words. How can she not when she carries such a close appearance to the demons that are already so loathed by the town folk?

"At first, she may think it is enough that she has you and you have her. Two against the world. But there will come a time when you are not enough. She will crave peers and playmates. She will want to strike out on her own, perhaps take a lover or two. What happens when she discovers the entire truth? How will she feel? Who can say? That day is many years from now. But you have the chance, here and now, to set both of your lives on a better trajectory. The sacrifices you have made, thus far, are only the beginning."

Tarantulas's face falls, as he works through the chain of Erik's reasoning and visibly fails to reach an alternative conclusion. He is a sociologist, after all; who can say he has not seen this exact dynamic play out from afar, a thousand times before? And there are also his parting words to Springer to consider. He does not want Dawn to suffer, as Ostaros would have in his care...

"She only exists at all due to my actions," he says quietly. "I have a duty to give her the best life possible -- it is not simply an act of love, although I do love her very much. It's a moral obligation." Let the record show that this is most likely the first time Tarantulas has brought up morality in Erik's hearing without a smug academic undertone, as if he thinks himself a neutral observer above such petty things. It turns out there are some ethical strictures that he takes very seriously indeed.

"Can what I have broken be fixed, though? Why would anyone ever trust me again?" It will not be enough, he knows, to simple assure everyone that he has no intention to ever make a deal with a demon again -- not least because it would not actually be true. Certainly he has no desire to make a deal right now, but Marrow Island is a dangerous place. If Dawn's safety is on the line he will do whatever he has to, in order to protect her.

Yes. There, at last, Tarantulas can see it. Erik is relieved that he isn't trying to deny it now. That the topic of morality has finally entered the conversation gives him hope.

"Some may not. River was deeply wounded by what you've done. I won't speak on her behalf. But the path forward is one you must walk with integrity regardless of if you are forgiven or not." Erik finds he is walking the same path himself, for how he transgressed against Max. At least it means he can speak from experience.

"You must make better choices. You must do what is right even when no one is there to reward it. Before they can trust you, Tarantulas, you must become trustworthy. Remember, the eyes of your daughter will be upon you, watching. Through you, she will learn everything. Think carefully about how what she sees will shape her."

Finally he begins to understand the difficult road he has laid down for himself. It's not simply enough to keep Dawn alive and pass on his knowledge; he must be an example for her as well. Not just because she will take her moral cues from him, but because in time her peer group will supplant him. This is not just unpreventable, it is necessary for her to become a fully functional adult. Has he not seen it thousands of time before, in his journeys across the galaxy? Different species differ from each other, but just as there are only so many ways for an atmospheric flier to evolve, so too are there only so many ways for a social sapient to develop.

If he wants to remain in Dawn's life, he will have to be the kind of person she will want to have there.

He sighs deeply in surrender. "It will be difficult," he says quietly; it is not an excuse, but a simple statement of fact. "What will you do when I make mistakes? Or if I feel it is necessary to sacrifice my developing integrity for her safety?"

"It is always difficult. That is the first thing anyone ever says about parenthood." Not that Erik would know from a biological standpoint, but he'd adopted enough fledglings to understand the broad strokes. And he's met enough mothers and fathers in his long life to gather the rest.

"I don't expect you to be perfect. You will make mistakes. I only expect you to put forth your best effort and to make amends when you fail to measure up. As far as protecting Dawn, I expect you to do as any father would--whatever it takes to keep her safe. You will be judged less harshly if it's on account of that."

what arms have lain under my head til morning? [mixed]

Backdated to a few days post-birth.

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