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You did?

[She tilts her head to the side. Mary had no idea that the two of them even knew each other. Of course, she doesn't keep tabs on everyone's social lives, but she's somewhat familiar with the circles that her housemates run in. As far as she could tell, Daud and Emily had never held a conversation.

He looks a lot more uncomfortable than she's ever seen him look before.]

Did you know her?

[ Does he look just a little more uncomfortable? Probably. Yes. Definitely.

He'd brought that question on himself. He'd called down that question by the bare act of coming here, of speaking Emily's name. Still, it cringes him internally, makes him realize once again that he shouldn't have pursued this, that he doesn't need to know and this is only liable to give him away somehow.

What's he supposed to say? 'I killed her mother'? 'I was paid to kidnap her'? 'I saved her from life at the hands of a witch'? 'We compacted with the same bastard of a god'? 'She was empress-to-be and then empress in a dying city, a city I happened to live in'? ]

We crossed paths.

[ It's true, anyway. ]

Didn't speak much. But I notice people.

I take it you knew her.

[Mary is still skeptical, and would bet that their acquaintance is more than simply crossing paths. Otherwise, why come here and ask about her? That's a lot of effort for someone you knew in passing. For now though, Mary will keep her thoughts to herself and take Daud at his word.]

Yes, since we shared such close quarters. We only spoke a few times, but she and I got along rather well. I admit that I'm concerned that something may have happened to her.

[ Makes sense that Emily and Mary would get along, doesn't it? Both nobles with a streak of stubbornness. Not that he knows so much about Mary. Not that he'd known much about Emily, not the way she'd turned up here. ]

You said her room was emptied.

How long has it been?

[They weren't exactly friends, but they were cordial to each other and certainly polite. Perhaps they were too similar to be friends.]

Two days past since I've seen her. I only checked her room this morning. I can show you, if you'd like.

No, I– looked around already.

Thank you.

[ It's rare for Daud to offer thanks, a sign of how off-kilter he feels.

And if he doesn't want to see the room, then what? What is he doing here? Best not to ask. Only continue forward, find his way ahead. ]

I assume she didn't say anything about leaving.

[Mary furrowed her brow at him. She had never seen Daud this distracted and off.]

No, she did not. [Should she ask or should she let this go on? Mary has always been the type of person who prefers to be upfront.] What's going on, Mr. Daud? You seem quite affected by this and I cannot tell if it is because of the disappearance itself or because of the person who has disappeared.

[ He wants to protest, point out that he hasn't been impacted by anything, point out that whatever she sees or believes she sees is beside the point, point out that it isn't any of her business.

Only, yes, he'd been the one to barge in on her. And he knows well enough he's out of sorts. And it'll only look more suspicious to evade the question. So what can he admit. What can he say that won't betray the pact they'd made.

'I owe her a debt that can never be paid.' 'She was present for my greatest mistake.' ]

It's odd. To leave no trace behind.

We shared a home world.

[ Which is true. Which doesn't necessarily mean much. Which doesn't mean they'd ever met beyond this place. Which sounds potentially, absurdly sentimental. Which may offer enough of a connection to seem plausible. ]

It's nothing.

[Her face softens and one of her eyebrows raises in surprise. So that's it.]

Forgive me if this is forward, but it does not seem like nothing. [Because he seems so uncomfortable, Mary decides to be a bit frank with him.] If you knew her and she's disappeared, I would not find it sentimental if you were concerned.

[ He doesn’t mind her frankness. Quite prefers it to evasions and half-hinted meanings, to careful speech that voids most of its intent or willfully empties its intention. ]

It isn’t—

[ There’s nothing he can add; he can’t explain further without giving himself away. Better to let her believe whatever she’s caught onto. It doesn’t matter what she thinks. What she knows - what he can keep her from knowing - is more important.

(In the back of his mind, a host of questions swirls dim and unexpected. ’What did she say of herself, her life?’ ’Did she speak of her Mark?’ ’Who was she? What was she like?’ They’re questions he doesn’t like to touch, questions he wouldn’t expect from himself. It’s only that he needs sleep. It’s only that this disappearance caught him off-guard.

But what if she’s disappeared for good? What does that mean, given everything that had happened?) ]

We weren’t familiar.

But it's strange.

[ Is he repeating himself? Hard to say. He can't say, not right now. ]

[Mary sighs, but she's not mad. It seems personal and yet complicated, and she cannot blame Daud for not wanting to share that with her. She appreciates her own privacy and thus wishes to respect his.]

So she was from your home, but you did not know her very well. I think it would... [She searches for a word other than 'upset'.] unsettle me as well,

[Mary doesn't probe any further though.] Was there anything else that you wished to know?

[ He appreciates her discretion - notices her choice of words, that brief silence of selection - though right now he scarcely thinks about it, only feels a dim and distant relief. 'Unsettled' is as apt a word for his current state as anything.

That question... Yes and no. There isn't anything he needs to know; there was no good reason for him to come here in the first place. All he has are fragments of questions, words he'd best leave unspoken.

Though, no, there's one... ]

Have any others disappeared?

Yes. A woman from Venus's insula is also missing. She has a sister here as well, and from what I understand, her sister was not informed by her of any desire to leave.

[And apparently that's something she would have done. It just fuels Mary's theory that something is very amiss here.]

Queenie.

[ It's a supposition based on their sole interaction and on his encounter with the other sister. If either of these women was a candidate for Venus, it had to be the one who sparkled with a stranger's conversation. ]

Any connections between this woman and Emily?

[ Never mind the way that name threatens to catch in his throat, the way it could burn him, the way he has no right to pronounce it. ]

Edited 2018-07-07 04:08 (UTC)

[She's being so good, not pressing Daud on any of this, not commenting on how he calls her Emily.]

None that I am aware of, though I'm not sure whom Miss Kaldwin made her acquaintance with while she was here. They could have known each other.

[ To be fair, Daud typically speaks of people by their first names. To also be fair, this is probably, definitely not the time to be doing so. Bless you for being an angel right now, Mary. Bless you. ]

Huh.

[ That's it. He speaks; falls silent. Studies his hands (pointedly, pointedly ignoring the Mark). He should find words, but what? He shouldn't be here, but there's nowhere else to go.

After a long, long moment: ]

I think I would like to see that room after all.

Please.

[They sit in silence for a long moment, Mary growing somewhat uncomfortable. He appears to be thinking and she's not even sure if he remembers she's there until he speaks again.]

Yes, of course.

[She stands and beckons for Daud to follow her to Emily's room down the hall.]

[ He follows, trying to take careful stock of the walls around him, of Mary's posture, of anything. Mostly finding everything abstracted, himself torn still between asking further and leaving, still chiding himself for being here still chiding himself for every second he refuses to leave and it's all tangled but maybe, maybe this movement will give him the momentum he needs to excuse himself.

When they reach the room he stands outside the door, blinking in. He's already examined this room. There's nothing it can possibly tell him. But because he's off-balance and because he's here and because he'd asked her to bring him here, he begins a slow circuit of the room, examining the cracks and corners, brushing a finger to look for dust that isn't there.

(Willing himself not to think about the fact that he's standing in her room. That he has no right to be here.)

At some point he finally speaks, voice half-absent. ]

There's nothing.

[No, there's nothing. She's completely gone. Mary had told Daud that, but she understands that he needed to see it with his own eyes. Whatever relationship he had with Emily, it seemed complicated.]

Not a trace. I still doubt that she would have gone into the city on her own. Besides, the room is too in order. It does not sit right with me.

No.

[ Nothing about this is right. Daud can’t say whether disappearing without a trace would be in-character for Emily (had he called her Emily in front of this woman?), but the feel of this is off, somehow.

In any case, there's nothing to be gained standing here, and he truly has lingered too, too long.

(He could still ask her. Questions, what questions. He isn't going to.) ]

This has been helpful.

[ Has it? ]

Thank you, Mary.

[He calls her by her first name and it does not even faze her.] You're welcome, Daud.

[She'll watch him as he goes, wondering if this was indeed helpful for him or not. Mary has personally been left with more questions of her own, ones that she will have to approach carefully with him. It's easy for her to tell that Daud is not the type of man who opens up easily.]

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