Elliot Ludwig

I'd come home and see that smile again. Warm eyes." His head dips down for a moment as he tries to compose himself once more. The phantom feeling of a lump in his throat he can't swallow down has him aching.

He finds he has to take a few deep breaths, trying to squash down the rush of nausea that horrible, horrible thought gives him.

"She was stolen from you, by a man who never deserved her," he manages to get out, eventually. "I cannot overstate how sorry I am. Truly, I-- I do not have the words. I... I wish... ... No. Now is no time for an old fool's longing. You are right not to forgive me this sin."

"She deserved better."

He toys with the corner of the paper, still taking in the beauty of her handwriting, but he can't quite see her face anymore. He knows the details, yes, but putting them together is always wrong. It makes his heart twist painfully every time he's reminded of that. Even in her casket she looked wrong.

It isn’t long before his face is colouring from Harley’s next words, however; a mix of embarrassment and shame.

“I… I was amiable with all of them, but, no. No, with her, it was… different. I won’t try to excuse my failings. But, you must understand that your mother kept them hidden. Even when I did catch a glimpse of one or another of them, much like yourself, she always had an explanation.”

But the way she spoke her excuses, it was so confident. Sometimes I think, she might have told me anything back then, and I would have believed it.”

"How could you see not justime but hers as well and not connect the dots? You're as dense as you are spineless."

But once his gaze catches the paper in his hand, his attention is pulled back to it, display softening as he reads it over again. There's a question burning a hole in his mind but he couldn't—

"Do you think she'd be proud of what I've done?"

Ice cold fury burns inside him, so strong that it makes his chest ache. That Harley would dare use his loss, his grief, against him— but he takes a deep, ragged breath. Curbing his temper, as painful as it is to do so.

“You, of all people,” Elliot says stiffly, “should know how grief alters the mind, and its capabilities for rationality. …My love was never false—“ he snaps the plate back into place, harder than is necessary— “but it was clouded, by pain. Your mother saw that, I wager. … Perhaps that’s why she never said anything.” He adds, soft, mournful.

There’s a silence, wherein he continues to struggle to cool his sizzling temper. Harley’s next question though, comes so unexpectedly that it completely takes the fire from beneath him.

“Y—- proud of—“ The experimentation? The man slaughter?

Elliot swallows a hard lump in his throat. He tries to ignore the way his hands shake.

The silence stretches as he mentally scolds himself for this blunder. He wants to divert the topic but he's not sure if Elliot would let him, or if he even wants to.

"All of it..." He murmurs softly, shaking his head then. "I've done things people could only dream of. I fought tooth and nail for everything I had after..." He could drag Elliot's name further but he knows he might not get his answers if he does. Being kicked from the YGP almost ruined him. He lost all financial backing the program offered. Lost the sense of community it provided.

He had to work himself to the bone to get where he did.

Marianne would never approve of what Harley’s done. Nor would she have stopped loving him. Those two facts are solid in his mind, irrefutable. He bites the inside of his cheek, mindful of the ever growing silence.

“She— …”

‘No’ is the short answer. But, he can’t very well tell Harley that. At best, what little headway Elliot’s made with him will be crushed. At worst, in a fit of rage, Harley might actually manage to kill him.

“She would… see you.” He says, finally. “She would see how hard you’ve worked, your whole life. She would see your pain. She would see your vision, your dedication. All of you. …As she always has.”

I'd come home and see that smile again. Warm eyes." His head dips down for a moment as he tries to compose himself once more. The phantom feeling of a lump in his throat he can't swallow down has him aching.

He finds he has to take a few deep breaths, trying to squash down the rush of nausea that horrible, horrible thought gives him.

"She was stolen from you, by a man who never deserved her," he manages to get out, eventually. "I cannot overstate how sorry I am. Truly, I-- I do not have the words. I... I wish... ... No. Now is no time for an old fool's longing. You are right not to forgive me this sin."

"She deserved better."

He toys with the corner of the paper, still taking in the beauty of her handwriting, but he can't quite see her face anymore. He knows the details, yes, but putting them together is always wrong. It makes his heart twist painfully every time he's reminded of that. Even in her casket she looked wrong.

It isn’t long before his face is colouring from Harley’s next words, however; a mix of embarrassment and shame.

“I… I was amiable with all of them, but, no. No, with her, it was… different. I won’t try to excuse my failings. But, you must understand that your mother kept them hidden. Even when I did catch a glimpse of one or another of them, much like yourself, she always had an explanation.”

But the way she spoke her excuses, it was so confident. Sometimes I think, she might have told me anything back then, and I would have believed it.”

"How could you see not justime but hers as well and not connect the dots? You're as dense as you are spineless."

But once his gaze catches the paper in his hand, his attention is pulled back to it, display softening as he reads it over again. There's a question burning a hole in his mind but he couldn't—

"Do you think she'd be proud of what I've done?"

Ice cold fury burns inside him, so strong that it makes his chest ache. That Harley would dare use his loss, his grief, against him— but he takes a deep, ragged breath. Curbing his temper, as painful as it is to do so.

“You, of all people,” Elliot says stiffly, “should know how grief alters the mind, and its capabilities for rationality. …My love was never false—“ he snaps the plate back into place, harder than is necessary— “but it was clouded, by pain. Your mother saw that, I wager. … Perhaps that’s why she never said anything.” He adds, soft, mournful.

There’s a silence, wherein he continues to struggle to cool his sizzling temper. Harley’s next question though, comes so unexpectedly that it completely takes the fire from beneath him.

“Y—- proud of—“ The experimentation? The man slaughter?

Elliot swallows a hard lump in his throat. He tries to ignore the way his hands shake.

…

Then he does a double take, spins back around—

Like hell he'd admit he doesn't know how this happened. One second he's nothing then suddenly he's in a glowby and being dragged by a lemon.

“…Oh, damn it all! Enough! Come here—“

But— just as he reaches for Harley, Limon turns a sharp right.

…

Then he does a double take, spins back around—

…

Then he does a double take, spins back around—

I'd come home and see that smile again. Warm eyes." His head dips down for a moment as he tries to compose himself once more. The phantom feeling of a lump in his throat he can't swallow down has him aching.

He finds he has to take a few deep breaths, trying to squash down the rush of nausea that horrible, horrible thought gives him.

"She was stolen from you, by a man who never deserved her," he manages to get out, eventually. "I cannot overstate how sorry I am. Truly, I-- I do not have the words. I... I wish... ... No. Now is no time for an old fool's longing. You are right not to forgive me this sin."

"She deserved better."

He toys with the corner of the paper, still taking in the beauty of her handwriting, but he can't quite see her face anymore. He knows the details, yes, but putting them together is always wrong. It makes his heart twist painfully every time he's reminded of that. Even in her casket she looked wrong.

It isn’t long before his face is colouring from Harley’s next words, however; a mix of embarrassment and shame.

“I… I was amiable with all of them, but, no. No, with her, it was… different. I won’t try to excuse my failings. But, you must understand that your mother kept them hidden. Even when I did catch a glimpse of one or another of them, much like yourself, she always had an explanation.”

But the way she spoke her excuses, it was so confident. Sometimes I think, she might have told me anything back then, and I would have believed it.”

I'd come home and see that smile again. Warm eyes." His head dips down for a moment as he tries to compose himself once more. The phantom feeling of a lump in his throat he can't swallow down has him aching.

He finds he has to take a few deep breaths, trying to squash down the rush of nausea that horrible, horrible thought gives him.

"She was stolen from you, by a man who never deserved her," he manages to get out, eventually. "I cannot overstate how sorry I am. Truly, I-- I do not have the words. I... I wish... ... No. Now is no time for an old fool's longing. You are right not to forgive me this sin."

Harley never says anything, and yet…

“You’re faltering in your movements,” Elliot comments, mildly. “I think you’re due some maintenance, my boy. I could be of some help, I think.”

@ludwigplaytime

Harley's movements only pauses for a micro second before he immediately resumes what ever he was tinkering with. He's bristled up with Elliot's words as unintentional and harmless they've seemed to be. "I just did routine maintenance. I'm fine and I don't need your tinkering." Did he? He remembers doing it but he can't recall when. It feels recent enough so it surely must be.

At the claim that he does not know what he’s doing, though, he does admittedly bristle.

His eyes soften at Harley’s nervousness, however. “There’s nothing to fear, now. I’ll take great care.”

For now, his hand pats onto the desk before grabbing one of the papers on it. He pulls it down to read while Elliot works to at least keep himself distracted from everything that could go wrong in this situation. He paused when he recognizes the handwriting however. Ah. He'd forgotten he'd managed to fetch these...

Then stiffens.

“Her—? What—“ he glances up, to see her handwriting. Those poems. So beautifully penned. His cheeks warm.

“Oh…! You found them! I— err— you didn’t say… I would have…”

Have probably screened them for her more romantic prose.

Focusing, he pries the stuck wires loose, fixing the joint, and then withdraws his hand.

He dabbled himself, writing poems. A way to get closer to her. He never found them any good. Reading this though? Makes him feel closer to her than he has in a long, long time.

“…No. She wasn’t fond of asking for things.”

He returns to his work, replacing the casing of the leg he’d just fixed, and moving to check the other one.

Harley never says anything, and yet…

“You’re faltering in your movements,” Elliot comments, mildly. “I think you’re due some maintenance, my boy. I could be of some help, I think.”

@ludwigplaytime

Harley's movements only pauses for a micro second before he immediately resumes what ever he was tinkering with. He's bristled up with Elliot's words as unintentional and harmless they've seemed to be. "I just did routine maintenance. I'm fine and I don't need your tinkering." Did he? He remembers doing it but he can't recall when. It feels recent enough so it surely must be.

At the claim that he does not know what he’s doing, though, he does admittedly bristle.

His eyes soften at Harley’s nervousness, however. “There’s nothing to fear, now. I’ll take great care.”

For now, his hand pats onto the desk before grabbing one of the papers on it. He pulls it down to read while Elliot works to at least keep himself distracted from everything that could go wrong in this situation. He paused when he recognizes the handwriting however. Ah. He'd forgotten he'd managed to fetch these...

Then stiffens.

“Her—? What—“ he glances up, to see her handwriting. Those poems. So beautifully penned. His cheeks warm.

“Oh…! You found them! I— err— you didn’t say… I would have…”

Have probably screened them for her more romantic prose.

Focusing, he pries the stuck wires loose, fixing the joint, and then withdraws his hand.

Harley never says anything, and yet…

“You’re faltering in your movements,” Elliot comments, mildly. “I think you’re due some maintenance, my boy. I could be of some help, I think.”

@ludwigplaytime

Harley's movements only pauses for a micro second before he immediately resumes what ever he was tinkering with. He's bristled up with Elliot's words as unintentional and harmless they've seemed to be. "I just did routine maintenance. I'm fine and I don't need your tinkering." Did he? He remembers doing it but he can't recall when. It feels recent enough so it surely must be.

At the claim that he does not know what he’s doing, though, he does admittedly bristle.

His eyes soften at Harley’s nervousness, however. “There’s nothing to fear, now. I’ll take great care.”

Harley never says anything, and yet…

“You’re faltering in your movements,” Elliot comments, mildly. “I think you’re due some maintenance, my boy. I could be of some help, I think.”

@ludwigplaytime

Harley's movements only pauses for a micro second before he immediately resumes what ever he was tinkering with. He's bristled up with Elliot's words as unintentional and harmless they've seemed to be. "I just did routine maintenance. I'm fine and I don't need your tinkering." Did he? He remembers doing it but he can't recall when. It feels recent enough so it surely must be.

At the claim that he does not know what he’s doing, though, he does admittedly bristle.