RP:That Woman

From HollowWiki

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc


Summary: Hudson receives information that Valrae has been jailed in connection with Kahran's latest attack on Larket. He arranges a brief meeting and offers to have Mayor Uma try to extradite her to Cenril, where it is less likely she will face a death sentence. Valrae reveals that when questioned by the Larket guards she took the blame for the breaking of the machine as part of an elaborate plot to kill his wife. This changes the conversation, forces them to disguise their conversation as hatred for one another. Valrae, who now looks very different from the Valrae Hudson once knew, tells him that she forgives him. She also tells him that her husband, Irenic, doesn't know she's been caught. Hudson, before leaving, tells her that her people still support her and that he'll tell Irenic personally.


The Larket Dungeon

Hudson had leveraged and bribed the right people to make this meeting happen. He knows it's wrong for him to be here. He hasn't told his wife, the guilt is already turning nastily in his stomach. Valrae's not in the room the Larket guards have led him to, but there are two metal chairs and he sits in one of them and slouches, manspreads. He's in sweatpants and sneakers, a grey polo, dad clothes. He can hear the clanging of the prison doors down the hall and the shuffling of footsteps, guards barking orders at someone in their charge. Hudson's barely gotten comfortable when the door to this 'private' cell is thrown back and Valrae - it must be she - is thrown in like an animal. "Shout when you're done," the guard locks them in together and strides down the hall, whistling with cheerful menace. Hudson is on his feet, standing, the occasion felt like it called for it. "Here, do you need help," he reaches for her, but she doesn't.


Valrae is unrecognizable. They'd taken her clothes, her shield bracelet, her crystals. Their kindness was a dirty, threadbare tunic made of something similar to burlap and several sizes too small. It left most of her legs and and arms exposed, her bruises and wounds harsh against the sick pallor of white that was what little skin was left unharmed. Her shoulder hung at an odd angle, the top of her arm underneath it swollen and misshapen too. There was a worryingly large blood stain on the fabric over the left side of her ribs. Her face was swollen, her eyes black and her nose crooked. Jarringly, her hair was matted and hung in short, choppy waves that barely reached her shoulders. Blood from the battle was still dried on her, most of it her own and some of it still from others. The guards tossed her in with as much compassion as they would a piece of garbage into a can. She hits the floor with a sad sound, too tired or too dazed to even get her hands in front of herself and stop her face from hitting the floor. Her nose starts to bleed again but she waves Hudson's help away. The witch half walks, half crawls to a chair, her lip quivering and small moans of agony escaping her despite her stubborn will. She doesn't look up at him. When she finally manages to get her body into the chair, her breathing is harsh. She doesn't speak.


Hudson has trouble looking at Valrae also. It is hard not to think about the role he has played in the circumstances leading to this very scene. If she had never met him, she would never have gone to jail in Cenril, never become a fugitive living in Larket, never become involved in the resistance, never done the very stupid, very dumb thing that landed her in here. He thinks about Irenic who must be sick with grief. He remembers what that feels like and feels his throat close up about it. And so he and Valrae are silent, the two of them, for the time it takes Hudson to partition off his guilt, of which he has a great deal. Eventually, he shifts his weight on the chair, it scrapes the harsh floor, and he says, "I am going to have Uma try to get you extradited back to Cenril."


Valrae laughs. It was sad, garbled sound, like her lungs were filled with water or blood. Her nose was free bleeding, she doesn't care. It looks crazy. She looks crazy. "Don't bother." The witch rasps, finally swiping at her nose. She winces and makes a small noise of pain. "Before you ask," Her eyes move up, land on Hudson's face and hold. They're dark and filled with pain and a lot of old anger. "I told them the truth," She lets that hang in the air between them, waits for him to react. It was a mean thing she did, still jabbing at him for accusing her of blackmail. Finally she finishes with, "I told them how I got the witch detection radar to malfunction and tried to use it to kill Alvina at the same time. The king, your wife. Two birds and all." Val tries to shrug and a grimace colors her face. "So, don't waste your time or mine. I'll die here." Her voice shook but somehow she almost managed to sound relieved. She slumps farther in her chair and it's obvious that it's agony to keep herself upright. It was true enough, she would die here. If she was left like this her human body was too weak to mend on it's own. Even with her seriously depleted and unreachable magic. Though, most likely they will have decided to execute her publicly before she could die on her own.


Hudson's jaw tenses as Valrae rebuffs his offer. He was going to get to this next part slowly, ease into it, talk to her like a friend, but Valrae shatters that idea. Now they're in a performance. There's a moment where the silence hangs over his head like a blade and he feels his stomach drop out. He thinks about his children and his delicate wife. He doesn't immediately fear for their lives or safety or comfort; this is why he'd bought an election. There'd never be an extradition to Larket. But it would humiliate them for the monarchy to learn that they'd broken the machine, to try to prosecute them. It would cause problems. That he might not be able to tidily contain. Valrae wouldn't. Surely not. ...She didn't. And yet it's still like a knife through the ribs to hear the lie she says. They could have talked about this another way! Now she's set the tone. He leans forward and puts his head in his hands. He is quiet for a moment. He thinks, I made you this. What a self-indulgent thought, he hates himself. He wonders, for a moment, what it would have been like, if they had happened, if Alvina had never taken him back. He doesn't think Valrae would be in jail. No, it would be her in the beautiful mansion, with their son. He would have let himself be trapped. Would they have been happy? Would she have supported him and trusted him? Would he have given himself entirely to her? Would they have resented one another? Would they have inevitably hurt one another deeply and carelessly? ...Why is he even thinking about this? ...Why is this Valrae so far removed from the Valrae he knew? He feels nothing, or more accurately, a hollowness that lingers, like touching something sticky and finding the gummy film hard to remove from your hands. He grinds the heels of his palms into his eyes and then turns his head in his hands and looks at Valrae until he is sure she is looking at him. "I'm sorry," he mouths. "I don't know why I came here," he says, outloud for their audience, the stony words surprising even himself. "I wanted to see your face, I guess. They're going to kill you, you know."


Valrae is almost sorry for holding her lie between them so long. The look on his face stirs a broken feeling of guilt in her heart and her bloodied lips frown. Even with all the bad between them, her loyalty ran deep. It was just the way she was made. "I'm sorry," She whispers, suddenly. It's quiet between them as he puts his head in his hands. Her thoughts nearly parallel Hudson's own. She's trying to see herself in her minds eye, the young girl in Cenril whose world began and ended with the beach and the man she hardly knew now before her... Could her life have been different? The answer was no. All roads ended here, in Larket. Even if Hudson had somehow managed to talk her into a giant house, steered her into being some kind of mother, she would have ended here. News of Larket would have reached the shores of Cenril eventually, surely. She would have thrown her lot in for these people, right? The thought that the person she was might not have makes her feel nothing but revulsion. He apologizes to her, breaks the quiet between them. She can't move her eyes away from him. "I know." Her voice seems small, sounds far away but unafraid. "I'm not sorry for anything that put me here," She says slowly, hoping he could read between the lines. "Every action that led me here was my own and I'm proud to die for my people." She's tired but she tilts her chin a little higher because she was and because she meant it. She was proud of the home she made, proud of what little good she could do for the rest of the witches. "I did this." But she leans close, slowly, painfully. "My husband doesn't know..." She whispers, her eyes wide and pleading.


Hudson can hear the subtext, that she's forgiving him. He's grateful for it. He watches her, tiredly, hold her chin up high and read her next set of lines in this script. He shakes his head. So stupid, he thinks. He thinks about her husband, how he must feel. It's like she can hear his thoughts because she leans close and whispers her truth, and the hair on the back of his neck stands at end. He looks at her, hard-eyed, angrily. He rakes a hand over his face. "For Sven's sake," he says, and then he repeats that phrase again in the more profane version. He exhales, roughly, and then he centers his attention on her and says, slowly, "You're delusional. Your people are abandoning you. When your husband finds out what you did - and I'll make sure he finds out - he'll abandon you too." Hudson rises from his chair. It makes a harsh sound, scraping across the floor. He touches Valrae on the shoulder, briskly, on his way to the bars, which he rattles. "Guard," he calls out. "I'm done talking to the witch."


Valrae doesn't understand his anger. She's selfish and ignorant in this way. The way where she does what she wants and leaves other people in the wake of the mess she creates. Usually, her intentions are good but... The road to hell and all. What he says is for show, what she reads from it eases her and the rest somehow still touches a nerve. In places like these, hope is fragile and fear creeps with razor sharp claws to tear it out of her heart. Would her people abandon her? Abandon hope? "Goodbye," She calls with a feeling of finality, her voice thick with unnamed and messy emotion. Hudson leaves, touching her softly and Valrae closes her eyes. For a while the black swallows her and there is only the bliss of nothing. Eventually, guards jar her awake again and drag her back to her cell. This meeting with Hudson has drained her enough that she can no longer stand on her own. The cell they kick her into wasn't afforded the luxuries such as the Queen of Larket. Not for a witch. The floor is cold, damp and bare. There is no cot, no blanket, no furnishings. Only an empty cell with a stingy bit of straw tossed in the corner she curls her broken body into, like an animal. In the place between sleep and consciousness, she imagines a different life. One filled with sun and laughter and Hudson. Money, crime and passion, a messy headed son with Hudson's laugh and her eyes. She dreams of Irenic, their cozy home filled with love and light and warmth. Acceptance, unflinching love and adventure, maybe a girl with golden curls and puffy white wings. A different reality all together where she remained alone, dirty and hungry on the streets of Cenril until she died of hunger or a knife slipping between her ribs. Lastly, this one, with all of those things and somehow none.