A mirthless chuckle escapes her throat when Al cuts right to the chase. Because OH yeah, he knows where this is going.
All in good time, though.
So her reply is to shake her head and chuckle dryly.
"Man, she did a lot to everybody. What didn't she do?"
It's not a proper answer, but he's about to get a real one anyway as she continues.
"Obviously, her name wasn't Dante. It was Dahlia. And Dahlia did not have friends. I don't think she was actually capable of viewing anyone as a 'friend'. Maybe an equal, if they were a significant threat. But never a friend, and even then, she always had backup plans. A way to take you down if you ever got a little too aware, a little too close to things you weren't supposed to know or see. And one of the biggest things that got Dahlia to the top of the food chain, figuratively speaking, was one of those backup plans in particular. A backup plan that was so effective it wound up becoming her main plan. See... Dahlia had a child."
Al's smart.
He can read between the lines.
She knows he'll probably know right off the bat who the 'child' she's referring to actually is. But for the sake of the little narrative of parallels she's got going on here, she keeps her wording careful and nonspecific, her expression unreadable as she stares out at the faint lights on the water.
"Dahlia's child was... special. It could do things. It could make Dahlia's enemies 'disappear'. It was so good at making her enemies disappear, in fact, that as soon as she found out what it was capable of, she became more powerful than she ever had been before, even with all her cunning and puppetry. The child was the perfect murder weapon, the ace in her hand. To everyone else, it was a monster. And believe me, plenty of people called it that."
'Witch', actually, was the more common insult she'd had levied at her by jeering schoolmates. But 'monster' had showed up its fair share of times, and feels more relevant to this particular conversation.
"And you bet she played that up. Dahlia had built her empire by manipulating and her childrearing was no different. If it showed disobedience, reluctance to do as commanded, she would get what she wanted through a combination of pain and promises. Always the perfect amount of each, to keep her little monster equal parts docile and terrified. If it was a good little weapon, no punishment that day. And if it was really good, why, Mommy would make sure they could be a happy, normal, human family. And it worked. After awhile, the child was happy to do as it was told, because that's how conditioning works. If 'taking care' of one of Mommy's enemies meant that it got smiles and sweet words instead of having its arm held to the stove burner that night, what idiot wouldn't?"
no subject
All in good time, though.
So her reply is to shake her head and chuckle dryly.
"Man, she did a lot to everybody. What didn't she do?"
It's not a proper answer, but he's about to get a real one anyway as she continues.
"Obviously, her name wasn't Dante. It was Dahlia. And Dahlia did not have friends. I don't think she was actually capable of viewing anyone as a 'friend'. Maybe an equal, if they were a significant threat. But never a friend, and even then, she always had backup plans. A way to take you down if you ever got a little too aware, a little too close to things you weren't supposed to know or see. And one of the biggest things that got Dahlia to the top of the food chain, figuratively speaking, was one of those backup plans in particular. A backup plan that was so effective it wound up becoming her main plan. See... Dahlia had a child."
Al's smart.
He can read between the lines.
She knows he'll probably know right off the bat who the 'child' she's referring to actually is. But for the sake of the little narrative of parallels she's got going on here, she keeps her wording careful and nonspecific, her expression unreadable as she stares out at the faint lights on the water.
"Dahlia's child was... special. It could do things. It could make Dahlia's enemies 'disappear'. It was so good at making her enemies disappear, in fact, that as soon as she found out what it was capable of, she became more powerful than she ever had been before, even with all her cunning and puppetry. The child was the perfect murder weapon, the ace in her hand. To everyone else, it was a monster. And believe me, plenty of people called it that."
'Witch', actually, was the more common insult she'd had levied at her by jeering schoolmates. But 'monster' had showed up its fair share of times, and feels more relevant to this particular conversation.
"And you bet she played that up. Dahlia had built her empire by manipulating and her childrearing was no different. If it showed disobedience, reluctance to do as commanded, she would get what she wanted through a combination of pain and promises. Always the perfect amount of each, to keep her little monster equal parts docile and terrified. If it was a good little weapon, no punishment that day. And if it was really good, why, Mommy would make sure they could be a happy, normal, human family. And it worked. After awhile, the child was happy to do as it was told, because that's how conditioning works. If 'taking care' of one of Mommy's enemies meant that it got smiles and sweet words instead of having its arm held to the stove burner that night, what idiot wouldn't?"