Certainly, the child committed no crime. But neither have millions of stray dogs who are put down every year, neither have the zygotes squashed out by properly-preformed abortions. The child's death grew not from cruelty, but simple utilitarian necessity, at least from Richard's perspective. From Delilah's, it was an act of sadness and anger and jealousy, deep resentment that Richard's only son belonged to some gross whore.
The problem is that if Salome were in the situation, she would be thinking of the boy as a person, when to Richard, every child who is not Salome is tantamount to a coffee table. They are background noise, totally unreal little sub-humans just like the whores who produce them, and he finds the difference so clear that he assumes everyone can see it. Salome could never possibly be in so much danger, because if Delilah ever snapped on her, Richard wouldn't even blink in the process of putting her down. Salome's life comes first, every time, no matter how extenuating the circumstances or whom the person at stake is.
Setting the glass aside, Richard smiles tenderly as her head rests in his lap. Oh, to simply sit there, with that pretty blond head upon his thigh and those big eyes up on him. Just this, this is all he could possibly want in his life. The vile, twisting shame of his betrayal! He chuckles, though, stroking her jaw, murmuring, "Well, my darling, not all of your friends are as sensible or busy as you. You accomplish so much in a day, so much more than I'd accomplished by your age. Do you know how proud of you I am? It blazes in me with deep intensity, my pride in you." He smooths her eyebrow, gazing down upon her with a look of utmost tenderness.
How to tell her? He doesn't have a clue how he should go about phrasing it. Clearly he has to tiptoe toward it. For now, though, he focuses on his Salome, stroking her hair and hand. "My poor, tired princess. Would you like Daddy to carry you to bed? Or perhaps we should stay down here and keep the dog company." He pats the creature's head and its tail wags just before it turns its head to chew on Salome's fingers. "He might miss the taste of your delicious, delicious flesh."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-01-07 03:02 pm (UTC)The problem is that if Salome were in the situation, she would be thinking of the boy as a person, when to Richard, every child who is not Salome is tantamount to a coffee table. They are background noise, totally unreal little sub-humans just like the whores who produce them, and he finds the difference so clear that he assumes everyone can see it. Salome could never possibly be in so much danger, because if Delilah ever snapped on her, Richard wouldn't even blink in the process of putting her down. Salome's life comes first, every time, no matter how extenuating the circumstances or whom the person at stake is.
Setting the glass aside, Richard smiles tenderly as her head rests in his lap. Oh, to simply sit there, with that pretty blond head upon his thigh and those big eyes up on him. Just this, this is all he could possibly want in his life. The vile, twisting shame of his betrayal! He chuckles, though, stroking her jaw, murmuring, "Well, my darling, not all of your friends are as sensible or busy as you. You accomplish so much in a day, so much more than I'd accomplished by your age. Do you know how proud of you I am? It blazes in me with deep intensity, my pride in you." He smooths her eyebrow, gazing down upon her with a look of utmost tenderness.
How to tell her? He doesn't have a clue how he should go about phrasing it. Clearly he has to tiptoe toward it. For now, though, he focuses on his Salome, stroking her hair and hand. "My poor, tired princess. Would you like Daddy to carry you to bed? Or perhaps we should stay down here and keep the dog company." He pats the creature's head and its tail wags just before it turns its head to chew on Salome's fingers. "He might miss the taste of your delicious, delicious flesh."