thedispatch | (no subject)

[ The fact that she's still calling him darling gives a sense of normality to the situation. But it's the fact that she wanted them that still has his nerves up. ]

I did. What do you need them for?

[ They're tucked in his back pocket, for now. ]

[ Grell's gaze falls upon her reflection, muddled in the dirty water. Even so, she can make out her long strands, still partly matted with blood. ]

My hair.

[ The odd thing is, the colour of her hair nearly matches the blood that's threatening to stain it. William reaches up to push a clump of it away from her clean collar. ]

Do you need me to help?

[ Holding out her palm, she looks to him with a twinge of a smile. ]

Yes. By trusting me.

[ There's a short nod before he pulls the scissors from his pocket and places them in her hand. ]

I trust you.

[ A short nod of thanks, and she accepts them. Fingers rake through her strand, finding the first piece to cut. ]

If you run with me, you might die... You realise that, I'm sure.

I have already faced potential death twice. I am not fearful of it.

[ He watches the strands as they drift towards the grass below. ]

I made a promise to you, and I certainly can't keep it if I let you off on your own.

[ Ah, it isn't just the cold setting in, but the emotion that makes her vulnerable to it; she's shivering again. Even so, she persists on, becoming more hasty at snipping away the strands. ]

You've my permission to break your promise, William. I love you far too much to see you perish on my behalf...

If I wished to abandon you, I wouldn't need your permission. Doing so wouldn't bring me any form of happiness or relief. I would be up each night praying that you were safe and healthy.

[ Even though she's clearly not done with her hair, he pulls her into an embrace. ]

And I love you far too much to let you suffer though anything else on your own.

[ For now, she drops the scissors, in favour of burying herself in his arms. She must pause to swallow back her emotions. ]

I know your heart better than to think you would wish for such a thing. You're a good man, after all... I'm asking you to do so.

[ The silence that follows seems like hours as William's thoughts drift over every possibility they have to outrun this. ]

I cannot give you that. I'm sorry.

[ Pulling back, she wipes a hand beneath her glasses and across her eyes. ]

Well. I suppose that's it, then.

[ Fumbling about for the scissors, she turns the handles out for him to grasp - a silent request for him to finish the last of her hair, as she's become too much of a mess to do it properly herself. ]

I'm yours 'til the end.

[ William takes the scissors in hand, but before he moves to cut anything, he leans in to kiss her forehead. It's a comforting kiss, rather than one that may be more romantic. But somehow it's even more meaningful, in the moment. ]

Likewise, I am yours.

[ It's then that he does his best to trim her hair. The heavily bloodied bits are snipped off already, so he tries to even everything out. The final outcome is short and still a bit choppy, but William doesn't seem bothered by it. ]

[ Closing her eyes, she takes in the affections, desperately needing them in the moment. Even so, she doesn't expect to find herself in such a state of calm, following his words. Chaos abound, and all sense of identity that she had tied into her hair falling about her knees - none of it matters, so much as William remaining faithful to her in this moment.

Quietly, she fluffs her fingers through her shortened locks to loosen any snippets that may have stuck. Shaking out her collar, she buttons up her shirt, and pushes herself up to rise on uneasy knees. ]

My trousers, love?

[ He obliges, offering her a shoulder to lean on as she finishes dressing herself. ]

Do you know of anywhere we can safely house ourselves, at least for tonight?

[ Grell quietly mulls over that while she finishes dressing herself - gratefully using his shoulder to support herself, when need be. ]

My father's company owns a number of warehouses - a few I know of, in particular, are reserved for private orders, and only very rarely used...

That may have to do.

[ Once she's dressed, he looks back towards the house. ]

Go and pack necessities. I will take care of the body and clean up.

[ With a sigh, she cups his face. ]

I'm not going to leave you with that burden. It's too much.

We just cleaned you up.

[ Though, at that he notes the few speckles of blood that had splattered across her face. And handkerchief is fetched from his pocket. He wets it from the water pump then takes his time removing all he can find. ]

I have yet to change, so it will be more productive for me to do so.

[ Face softening, she cranes into his touch. ]

Will... [ Swallowing down the emotion that quells in her voice, she steals herself with another breath. ]

My old chest should fit him. We can load him into the cart and drop him from the docks. [ She says with surprising ease! ]

Empty it, then.

[ The same ease surrounds his own words. ]

Then collect our clothing and some blankets for tonight.

[ He'll focus on shifting the body away from the large pool of blood it's created. The puddle is covered in towels as William tries to sop up as much of it as he can. ]

[ Leaning in to kiss his cheek, she parts to do as he's suggested. Emptying out the chest, she tosses what she doesn't need onto the floor without care. It's much lighter now, and she's able to pull it into the sitting room easily on her own. ]

Can you think of anything that you must bring with you?

[ William takes a smaller hand towel and attempts to wipe off any blood that's collected on his hands. Still, they remain rather stained. ]

As far as trivial mementos, no.

[ He lifts the lid to the crate and looks back and forth between it and the body to decide what angle would be best to place it in. ]

[ Grell hums in acknowledgement, watching William. It's almost funny, in a way. ]

Shall I grab his legs?

If you would.

[ William hooks his hand under the body's armpits, lifting the body to nestle into the chest. He shifts the arms around to tuck in neatly, but pauses at the knife, still protruding from the man's skull. ]

I suppose it makes little difference if this is left.