[ And By does look. He sees the scene as he remembers it - exactly as he remembers it. His father, seated. Him, standing with an old Vorrutyer dagger in his hand, the one he'd snatched up in his rage. Nadine off to the side, staying well clear - always the smartest of them. Because even to the casual eye, it's quite clear that By isn't going to kill his father; the knife is raised, but he's wobbling on his feet, his face twisted with conflict. He's young, here - seventeen, and barely looks it - and rumpled, and frightened, and furious. ]
Do it.
[ Almost unconsciously, By urges on his younger self. It's futile for more than one reason. Even if he could reach that child, he never really would have been able to bring himself to take the old man's life. Never. And, indeed, just like last time, Father speaks -
"Go on. Be a murderer along all the other things you are. Pervert, rapist. Go on."
And the young Byerly sways again, and tightens his grip - and then turns and hurls the dagger across the room. It bounces futilely against the wall and clatters unsatisfyingly to the ground, the sound dulled by the soft floorboards, and so By searches for something better. He grabs a crystal drinking-glass - hurls it - and it doesn't shatter, either, simply likewise bouncing against the wall and then the floor. And so he snarls, "Fuck! Fuck!" And stands there, grabbing at his hair, overcome, helpless with rage, face turning red and tears starting to spill.
Byerly - the older Byerly - presses a hand over his own eyes. ]
no subject
Do it.
[ Almost unconsciously, By urges on his younger self. It's futile for more than one reason. Even if he could reach that child, he never really would have been able to bring himself to take the old man's life. Never. And, indeed, just like last time, Father speaks -
"Go on. Be a murderer along all the other things you are. Pervert, rapist. Go on."
And the young Byerly sways again, and tightens his grip - and then turns and hurls the dagger across the room. It bounces futilely against the wall and clatters unsatisfyingly to the ground, the sound dulled by the soft floorboards, and so By searches for something better. He grabs a crystal drinking-glass - hurls it - and it doesn't shatter, either, simply likewise bouncing against the wall and then the floor. And so he snarls, "Fuck! Fuck!" And stands there, grabbing at his hair, overcome, helpless with rage, face turning red and tears starting to spill.
Byerly - the older Byerly - presses a hand over his own eyes. ]